Honest and Dishonest Men
by Delphein
Summary: I'll ravish you and have my filthy way with you, and after that... you'll probably ask me to do it again.-- Jack; Real summary inside. NOW COMPLETE!
1. The Black Pearl

**Disclaimer**: Jack and other wonders belong to the mouse. Not mine, no profit, no harm intended, savvy?

_Note on connection to the movies: This entire story series was started after the 1st film (obviously), but before the 2nd film. You should basically assume that it goes alternate-universe after film 1. Nothing from the 2nd film has any bearing on anything that happens here. Or, you can think of it like any legend- there are multiple versions of the same tale. This is just a different version of the Jack Sparrow legend. :D_

_Note on "Where's Jack?": We're starting outside of the _Pearl_ to make it more fun when we do get to meet one of the best characters ever, Captain Jack Sparrow. Stick with it through the perspective of the dorky, uptight outsider's eyes and you'll get the pay-off of admiring Jack afresh when he appears at the end of this chapter. ;)_

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**Chapter 1: The **_**Black Pearl**_

Gwen stretched languorously as she awakened and groaned as her stomach reminded her that even after all this time, it still wasn't sure it liked being on the open sea. It was getting better, at least. She hadn't actually lost her lunch, so to speak, in several days, and she had even developed a fair semblance of the rolling gait that keeps seamen from stumbling about their ships. Yet she still felt a bit queasy from time to time. Thankfully, her trip was nearly over. Just the night before, Captain Johnson had promised her that they had only four or five more days at sea, if the weather held.

Gwen permitted herself a huge yawn, stretching once more before she forced herself out of bed. Almost instantly, her two maids appeared out of thin air (or so it always seemed to her) to attend to her. As they helped her out of her nightdress and into a corset and sage-green silken gown, she silently wished to be rid of the meddlesome pair of maids. They were too... solicitous, too... something. Too _present_ when she wanted them to be _absent_. She almost wondered if her aunt had purposely given the pair of them instructions to watch over her, much like spies, to see that she didn't do anything rash on the crossing. It certainly wouldn't surprise her. Her aunt was a strange, almost eccentric, middle-aged widow with ample means in the world from the bequeaths of her late husband. Though she hadn't been quite willing to take Gwen in herself when her brother (Gwen's father) died, she had spared no expense or trouble to ship the young lady of nineteen off to her only other relatives, her father's and aunt's brother and his wife in Port Royal.

Exiting her cabin, she slowly made her way up to the main deck and then forward to the bow of the ship. She clung to the wooden rail, as though she thought she might anchor her stomach this way, and gazed out across the water. She stared off toward the horizon, watching the early light from the just-risen sun dancing on the water. Not for the first time since her journey started out, she began to think about her current situation.

She had been raised by a governess hired by her father. Gwen remembered her mother as a very kind lady who had doted on her to no end. She had had a very rough time of bringing her daughter into the world, both in carrying and delivering the babe (which came early), which perhaps excused her near-eccentric devotion and love for the small child. Anything young Gwen could have possibly wanted was given to her before it had even occurred to her to ask her dedicated mother. Her father, however, who sorely desired a son as his proper heir, had never really approved of his wife's spoiling of the child.

Then, when she was barely seven years old, her mother had at long last conceived again. This time, though, she wasn't quite so lucky as she had been before to pull through with both herself and her daughter. She went into labor close to three and a half months early, an ordeal that neither she nor her son survived. Gwen's disappointed father had seemed to blame his daughter, if not directly for the loss of his wife and stillborn son, for being born first when his young bride had only been capable of bearing him one child, which should have been the son, in his estimation. She had never felt unloved, exactly. In fact, she never considered the concept of her father as being either a loving or hating creature, simply as a provider of material needs. That was all she ever expected from him, and it never occurred to her to hope for anything more.

When her father had died, not so very long ago, her aunt had taken her under her wing, outfitting and equipping her to the life of a young Caribbean lady, and bought her passage to Port Royal where she would be met by her at least respectably wealthy aunt and uncle and three cousins, all of whom she'd never met. Her English aunt had assured her that she corresponded with the Caribbean couple several times a year and that she knew they would certainly be most pleased to take her in. So a letter had been sent along, and despite the impropriety of a young lady traveling virtually alone, a few months later, Gwen was on her way on board the _Graymere._ She had with her a wardrobe of gowns suitable for her new climate and a pair of meddlesome maids whom she fervently hoped could be absorbed into a part of her uncle's household where she wouldn't have to come in contact with them too often.

She was just wondering, for the hundredth time, what her Port Royal relations were like (she had been led to believe they were very friendly and kind) and whether she would get along well with her cousins, two boys and girl all younger than she, when she heard a shout from a sailor somewhere behind her and at the same time noticed a toy boat floating along on the water before her.

Or so it appeared at that distance. Far off on the horizon, a dark smudge had appeared, and without taking note of it at all, as she had been thinking, she'd been staring at it while it resolved into the form of a ship. Clearing her wandering mind with a small shake of her head, she squinted her eyes and stared at the approaching vessel. Odd, she thought. The entire ship, even its sails, was a deep black with so little shine to it that it seemed to suck light out of the air around it. At this distance, the little figures she knew had to be its crew resembled spiders scuttling across the deck and through the web-like system of the sails' rigging. She was startled as she realized how quickly the ship was drawing nearer. She almost thought it was purposefully heading straight for the _Graymere_. Of course, that couldn't-

Her mind clamped down on those thoughts as the ship, which had been on a course that would bring it at the closest within a league of the _Graymere_'s starboard side, changed its course. Gwen watched in detached confusion as the ship reoriented itself so that it was heading directly for the _Graymere_. _Are you mad?_ she thought vehemently at the spiders.

Of course they were mad.

She turned to tell someone, to make sure the crew realized the black ship was out there and approaching recklessly at high speeds and insanely heading directly for them. As she turned around, though, she again realized that she had been so lost in her own ruminations that she had missed something. She'd failed to notice all the frenzied activity already going on behind her. Sailors were scurrying to and fro across the deck and up the masts in much the same manner as the spiders on the shadowy craft headed for them, though from her vantage point, these looked nothing like graceful, cunning spiders, but like nervous men scrambling about erratically.

"Miss Webster!" She skimmed her gaze over the deck, trying to pinpoint the source of the call. The first mate, whose name she still couldn't remember, was running towards her.

"Miss Webster." He paused, catching his breath and bearings for a moment. "It's the _Black Pearl_. Get below deck, get to your cabin, somewhere safe. Don't open the door for anyone, Miss."

"What's the _Black Pearl_-what's wrong about it?" Gwen asked, turning to look back over her shoulder at the ship that was rapidly closing the distance. She was unfamiliar with the particular legends of this part of the world.

"Pirates, miss," he said shortly. "Go lock yourself away, now."

"Pirates?" she repeated in disbelief, turning fully to face the ship, which was now disturbingly near. However, even as she watched, she saw the unquestionable Jolly Roger rising among the black sails like a raven from the dark, the eerie grin of the skull on its crossbones familiar and almost exciting to her in tales and legends, but foreign and frightening first-hand. In the same instant that the _Pearl_ showed its true colors, it had begun to swerve about, presenting its starboard side to the line of approach of its prey.

"Get below!" the first mate yelled at Gwen, springing away like a startled rabbit to yell orders at the crew nearest him while the captain frenetically called out his own instructions to the crew.

Gwen did as she was told, having seen all the proof of the imminent attack she ever cared to see, and began hurrying across the deck towards her cabin. Her flight was impeded as the _Graymere_ veered hard to port to avoid crashing headlong into the pirate ship. As Gwen caught herself and struggled to maintain her footing on the wildly tossing deck, she realized with horror exactly what the _Pearl_ had been trying to do with its outlandish and maniacal maneuvers. The _Graymere_ was now lining up perfectly alongside the _Black Pearl_, starboard to starboard, and even as Gwen scrambled toward the relative safety of her cabin below the main deck, she caught glimpses of the greasy hands and faces of the crew on the enemy vessel and of grappled ropes being flung out to lash the two ships together, while the pirates yelled and jeered.

Somehow, Gwen made it below and reached the door to her cabin and gratefully latched onto the door-handle, eager to hide herself from the dirty horde that was surely boarding the ship already. Relief melted again into horror, settling in the pit of her already-uneasy stomach like liquid mercury when the door steadfastly refused to open. Frantically, she pounded the door, perfectly aware of exactly how lady-like she wasn't being. _Hang those meddlesome, foolish maids!_ she thought fiercely. The small room the two pesky girls shared adjoined her own but this was the only door in the suite that opened into the narrow corridor. They had apparently gotten drift of the danger the ship was in and had locked themselves in- and her out!

Desperately searching her mind for another safe-hold, Gwen turned and rushed down the corridor, grabbing up handfuls of her skirts so as not to trip. She could go down into the cargo hold, perhaps... No. _Think like a pirate_, she coached herself. Surely a pirate would go straight to the hold, wouldn't he? She tried to run over what little she knew about what the ship was carrying, wondering whether a pirate would have any knowledge of the same and whether that might influence his decisions. Realizing that her limited time was stealing by her, Gwen shook her head. No, pirates most certainly wouldn't go to as much trouble thinking about things as she was, would they? They would rapidly seize control, take whatever they wanted, and then...well, hopefully, they would then leave. So where would be the best place for her to go to escape their rapacity?

Up. Unable to justify her conclusion beyond a somewhat-less-than-logical impression that she felt the thieves would concentrate their efforts to getting _down_ within the ship to find things to steal, Gwen started making her way upward, anxious to escape the corridor which she was sure would soon be swarming with covetous men, looting and taking anything in sight. Praying for whatever divine intervention or shreds of luck that she could possibly hope to be granted her, she headed up a claustrophobic set of steep steps near the stern of the ship. As she reached the top of the short ladder-like flight of stairs, she took stock of her options with what glances she dared to cop of the open deck before emerging. The clash of blades rang in her ears and when she peered over the lip of the stairway's square hole in the deck, several pairs of boots danced by an uncomfortable distance from where she was concealed.

She was about to abort her hasty plans and make new ones when she heard rowdy voices and heavy footsteps farther up the corridor she'd only just fled from. She was about to be trapped here with pirates above and below if she didn't do something rash.

Steeling herself for the worst, Gwen drew a deep, shaky breath and counted backwards from five. As she reached zero, she flung herself up onto the deck, stealing for the mizzenmast with a speed and unlikely grace that was derived from the same rush of adrenaline that flows through the veins of a gazelle who has discovered the tall grass all around it to be full of lions. Her flight took her unnervingly close to dueling pirates and sailors, though she scarcely noticed in her wild haste.

Hardly pausing to take note of her extreme luck thus far, she found herself faced with another problem as she amazingly reached her immediate goal of the mast unharmed. She almost wished she were given to using oaths just so that she might curse herself. She hadn't been entirely sure exactly what she was planning to do. She had simply been fleeing, a rather primitive response, with admittedly primitive thought processes accompanying the action.

Gwen had had a rather indefinite idea (though it was accompanied by a very clear and convincing mental image of herself, safe) that she could find herself free from danger perched atop the mizzenmast, high above the chaos on the deck below. Now, faced with the ladder-like protrusions in the mast and the inhibiting skirts of her own gown, she was at a loss. The crew could scurry easily up and down this very spar, but as she experimentally attempted to get her feet onto the first rungs, she felt that her now-cumbersome dress would brook no argument about this with her.

Later she would not be able to recall exactly _how_ she had managed it, although she could certainly point out _why_ she'd been able to scale the mast. Her racing heart didn't take much to spur the rest of her body into action by this point. So when a tubby-looking, grizzled man bedecked in mismatched articles of worn clothing, at odds with gold rings in his ears and a few gleaming chains about his neck, lurched towards her, it was enough. Somehow she didn't think that her being a woman was a reasonable protest to make to the glinting cutlass he brandished in one hand. The concept of a decision far beyond her at this point, Gwen took the only option her adrenaline-crazed mind could fathom and began scrabbling up the mast. Between the unwieldy nature of her apparel and the man's fatty bulk, the contest would surely have been ludicrous in any other context. As it was, however, between a terrified young woman fleeing from her pursuer, it wasn't funny at all.

Some huge expanse of time later (or perhaps it had really only been a minute or two), Gwen was safe at the highest point she could reach on the mast, her relentless pursuer having turned out to be more haphazard and less vicious than her fear-clouded mind had assumed. Apparently not having noticed any jewelry on the lass, the pirate had abandoned her for more profitable (and less troublesome) capers elsewhere on the ship. As far as she could tell, even if someone else had seen her, no one had paid her enough heed to care that she was hiding above them, only partially obscured by the billowing white sails. So, from her new vantage-point, Gwen watched the rest of the proceedings with relative ease of mind.

She could see that the crew of the _Graymere_ were gathered around the mainmast, along with about half of the ship's passengers. The group was being patrolled by half a dozen pirates or so while their comrades foraged through the ship, seeking out treasures and wealth. Gwen noticed a few of the crew bleeding from various wounds received while trying to fight off the raiders, but she was surprised to find that the pirates were now using only _threat_ of violence to keep their victims at bay. They weren't merely leering and slaying as she had always heard and believed pirates were "supposed to" do. Rather, they were laughing raucously and apparently enjoying good-natured banter and joking amongst themselves at the expense of their law-abiding counterparts of the _Graymere_'s crew. Apparently, this was merely sport to them, not a killing ground.

Somewhat nonplussed, Gwen allowed her gaze to wander over the entirety of what she was able to see through the sails. Pirates were merrily returning to their own ship bearing heavy rucksacks of items stolen from passengers and crew, and their cabins and quarters, as well as food and supplies from the main hold below. The disgruntled crew looked none too happy about this, but none were willing to test the reflexes of the swaggering men whose duty was to guard them. Gwen's fellow passengers all seemed more shocked and fearful than the crew, which merely appeared resigned to their fate.

Gwen spotted the first mate among the number, but not Captain Johnson. Flicking her eyes from one side of the ship to the other, she finally caught sight of him, his hands and arms securely tied behind him to the rail along the port side of the ship, his own coat tied in a very undignified manner about his head, much like a scarf, by the sleeves. He was evidently being taunted and teased by a bizarre man she could only assume was the captain of the _Black Pearl_. This man was bristling with a sheathed cutlass at one hip, a sword in its scabbard at his other hip, and two guns tucked into a sash tied about his waist. She was certain he probably hid still more weapons within his coat and perhaps some were even tucked into his unpolished boots. She couldn't make out much of his face from her point of view, but could see well his great mane of dark hair, matted into dreadlocks in some spots, braided in others, and adorned with beads and trinkets sporadically throughout. This mass was topped by a well-traveled three-cornered hat that very well might have been buried and unearthed again at some point for all the dirt and grime it boasted.

So lost in her consideration of the pirate-captain she had been, she hadn't realized that the rest of the pirates were evacuating back into their own ship. She watched as a couple of pirates, apparently the last of the looters, stepped from the polished wooden rail to the black rail and down onto their own ship with bags and crates of stolen goods. Turning back once again to the maned man, she saw him signal to the last of his men, those guarding the _Graymere_'s crew, and then leap back aboard his own vessel. The lines binding the ships together were released by a few pirates as others stood at the ready to fight off any gallant fools who tried to board their ship and reclaim the treasures now that they were unguarded.

Feeling it safe to return to the deck now, Gwen cast about for some way to get down. There was the obvious course of going down the same way she came up, but her gaze alighted upon a nearby rope which somehow seemed easier to her. As she had an unfortunate habit of doing, she grasped the line before she put too much sensible thought into it and prepared herself for the swooping trip she was about to make. As was wont to happen, however, something slipped, whether her hold on the mast or the rope itself, she wasn't quite sure. She found herself flying through the air holding desperately to her rope much earlier than she had been prepared for. The world spun about her, sea and sky and deck and sails. Gwen was aware of nothing but swinging past the deck and out over the sea again for several long breath-stealing seconds. Then, her grip on the rope failing, the line none-too-gracefully flung her into an undignified heap on the deck of the ship with a great _thud_ and _whuff_ as the wind was knocked from her lungs.

In the few moments that dragged by immediately after she regained her breath, she experienced great relief as she saw the ships were moving further apart by the second, then confusion when the faces surrounding her were mostly unwashed and unshaven, then appalled shock as she realized that the other ship was moving away under the power of pure, brilliant white sails, while the deck she lay on was the unmistakable midnight-black of the _Black Pearl_.


	2. A Diamond in the Rough

_**Disclaimer:**__ Jack and other wonders belong to the Mouse. Not mine, no profit, no harm intended, savvy?_

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**Chapter 2: A Diamond in the Rough**

Gwen stared as the clean white sails of the _Graymere_ grew smaller and more distant by the moment. Disbelieving in her sudden rotten turn of luck, she studied the ebony-hued wooden planks beneath her and the dark sails above her, full of the same wind she had fully expected to bring her safely into Port Royal. She noticed that even the wheel at the helm was as black as the heart of any lawless criminal. The _Black Pearl_. Only when she could no longer deny that she was, in fact, aboard the pirate ship did she allow herself to become aware of the men encircling her. No individual drew close enough to touch her, but the sheer number-a couple or three dozen-of them ringing her was more than enough to make her nervous.

Still struggling to completely recover her composure, Gwen slowly drew her feet under her and stood. She was careful to allow her body to settle into the gentle sway of her recently-found "sea- legs," rather than fight it, as she had when she had first boarded the _Graymere_. Now was no time for her to be stumbling about, not in the midst of her current company. Unconsciously, she smoothed her hands over her thighs, both to dry her clammy hands and to smooth her skirts down. Trying her best to ignore the taunts, jeers, and catcalls that had started the instant of her abrupt arrival on the pirates' deck, she sought about for a glimpse of the man she had earlier estimated to be the captain. Sure enough, the wild-looking man was even now approaching her, his men parting to make him a path to her.

This man, she thought distractedly, had to be one of the strangest men she'd ever seen in her life. Up close, he looked every bit as odd as he had from her ill-fated perch on the Graymere's mizzenmast- and more so. A dingy red strip of cloth was tied around his head underneath his dirty tricorne, the long ends of the material flipping about his shoulders in the sea-breeze. His dark hair, which she could still describe only as a mane, sported braids tied off haphazardly with long leathern strips, matted dreadlocks, several strings of variously-colored glass and wooden beads, and other bits of hair-jewelry she couldn't quite identify. He had a scruffy, shortly-trimmed beard which lengthened at his chin into what would be a goatee. Would be, that is, if it weren't gathered into two slightly uneven plaits, a bead or two strung onto the bottom of each one. His eyes were enchantingly dark, almost black, and were rimmed in kohl.

She caught herself staring into his bewitching eyes and forced herself to glance away, only to find her gaze met by other pirates. Instead, then, she settled her regard onto her own hands, noting as she did so that she had been clasping them tightly together, and her knuckles were turning a tell-tale white in her nervousness. She forced herself to release them, doing her best to assume a more relaxed and confident demeanor.

"Set me free," she implored softly as soon as he was near enough to hear her without most of his crew overhearing as well. She was hoping to avoid more jeers, which were admittedly quite disconcerting.

The man flashed her a beguiling grin, gold teeth glinting at her as his lips peeled back in almost unholy mirth. "Who's holding ye captive?" he asked, a deceptive charm seeping through his odd accent, the beads on his braided goatee swinging in a way she would almost find amusing if she weren't so apprehensive. "Seems to me it's _you_ who've joined us on yer own pleasure, luv."

Gwen's cheeks colored, both in self-consciousness and shame at the truth of his words and awakened anger with herself for her own fantastic _faux pas_ which had landed her (in a most undignified manner, at that) here amongst these ruffians on this wicked black ship. "Please," she tried again, hoping that if she ignored her own clumsy, unintentional arrival on his ship, he wouldn't bring it up again. "Captain..."

The captain smiled again, this time a more convincing and pleasant smile than before. Though he didn't immediately offer his name, he seemed pleased at her choice of calling him by his title. Taking this as a sign of encouragement, she continued, "Captain, I would be most grateful if you would allow me to return to my ship."

The captain swayed so unsteadily she felt sure he was about to fall over as he flung his arms out. Several rings gleamed and flashed on his fingers in the sun as he gestured dramatically toward the starboard side of the ship. "By all means," he said sweetly, as sweetly as one so grimy could possibly say anything. "Ye're of little use to me." By the way he seemed to half-slur his words together and the way he swayed (more so even than she with her still-amateurly-balanced sea-legs), Gwen was now convinced that he must be drunk.

A bit chagrined at the patronizing way he was treating her, she shifted her eyes from his face to where he was casually pointing with one hand. She almost expected- or at least hoped- to see a boat or some other transport waiting to take her back to her own ship. But of course, there was nothing. Even as she realized what it was he was insinuating, he grinned again, that same self-possessed grin she was already beginning to despise, and advised, "Ye'll probably find it a bit difficult to swim in that dress, though."

"Swim?" Gwen repeated, her heart sinking.

Her comment was lost as the crew, which had remained respectfully rather silent for their captain's sake, erupted into jeers again. "Don't do right to have a woman on board!"-"Make 'er swim!"-"Can't swim in that dress, looks expensive, best we hang on to it for ye!"-and other, less intelligible comments which Gwen interpreted roughly to mean that she was no more than entertainment for them. They were no more concerned for her own safety or return than they were for the return of the bags full of loot they'd made off with just a handful of minutes earlier.

"Please, Captain, I-"

But he cut her off, swerving about in his drunken way to face her again, looking as though he'd had an inspiration. "Was yer husband aboard that ship with ye, me lass?"

Taken aback by the sudden change of subject as well as exactly what the subject was changed to, she merely stared at him for a moment. While her father had provided her with most of the essentials she needed to live as an upper-class young lady, it was true that one of the particulars she had lacked was a proper debut and season in society's main circles. At the age of nineteen, she certainly should have had, at the very least, a dedicated suitor or perhaps two or three, perhaps even a fiancée or husband. This was very true. However, she had missed that important part of an English lady's youth, and could only shake her head in response to the pirate captain's odd question.

Unconcerned, he pressed on, "Yer family, then?"

Again, she moved her head from side to side. "My father and mother are both dead," she offered, though he hadn't asked for such specific information.

The captain's kohl-rimmed eyes narrowed and despite Gwen's attempts to remain confident and dauntless, she was uneasily aware of the fact that he was sizing her up.

She'd lost her hat somewhere in her scrambling around the Graymere. Her brown curls were pulled away from her face and held in place with simple but delicately-jeweled hair-combs. The only other piece of jewelry she wore was a relatively inexpensive locket she'd taken from her mother's jewelry box after her death. Her father didn't know she had taken it. It was the only corporeal remembrance she kept of her dear mother.

Her locket swung on a chain long enough to allow to slide into the front her gown, where it nestled, protectively, between her breasts. Her gown itself was a fabulous affair, one that her widowed aunt had chosen specifically for the way its sage-green hue contrasted with her too-pale aristocratic skin and her chocolate-hued locks. The pale green silk was covered with golden embroidery that further belied how expensive it was. Gwen knew that he was in fact scrutinizing her value, rather than any beauty she may possess. She wasn't sure which she would have preferred, but could only hope that he would find something in his inspection that would keep her feet planted firmly on the ship, rather than kicking wildly in the water. His eyes flicked again to her hair, apparently to appraise the jewels in her hair-combs.

Then the captain closed the distance between them, startling Gwen. She took a step back, gasping when a pirate she'd not noticed behind her pushed her forward again with a hand at her back. The captain grinned again, but said nothing as he reached for the chain which held her locket. She raised her hand to slap at his unwelcome gesture, but he had apparently anticipated the pathetic attempt at an attack and caught both of her hands with one of his, while he examined her locket with the other.

Suddenly, the captain released her. "Yer name, lass?"

Seeing no profit in lying or being difficult, Gwen hesitated only a moment before she said boldly, "Gwendolyn Webster."

"Captain Jack Sparrow," he said proudly, introducing himself in turn. "And, mm..." She watched as he glanced toward the tiny white spot on the horizon that was the _Graymere_'s retreating form. "Heading toward Port Royal, were ye? What's there for ye?"

"Nothing," Gwen answered quickly.

"So ye're just sailing around because ye feel like it, then?" the captain asked with a smirk, glancing around at his crew. They all grinned and laughed. "That's what _we_ do, lass, not strumpets like you."

Gwen said nothing.

"Here now, luv," the pirate said, leaning close enough for her to smell an unfamiliar odor on his breath, which she assumed was the liquor that was to blame for his inebriated behavior. "There's no need to lie. Someone somewhere is waiting for a young lass like yerself to arrive. And we wouldn't want to disappoint them, now would we? Who is't that's awaiting ye? We want to make sure you make it back to them safe and sound."

Gwen forced herself to ignore the chuckling coming from the pirates around her who had apparently already caught on to whatever scheme their captain was planning. But she knew that he had easily figured out that somebody had had to pay for her expensive attire, so she admitted, reluctantly, that her Aunt and Uncle Webster were expecting her to arrive in Port Royal on board the _Graymere_ within the week.

"There now, luv, that wasn't so difficult, was it?" He flashed her another of his golden grins. "Welcome aboard the _Black Pearl_," he said cheerfully, and then turned (and swayed heavily toward one side as he did so), flinging his hands up in the air. "Lock her up in the brig!" he shouted to his men as he staggered along toward the helm.

"The brig!" Gwen shouted indignantly after him as some of his minions moved to follow his orders. She'd actually allowed herself to begin to think that she might make it safely to her new guardians' hands after all. But the brig didn't seem like a very promising stop along the way to this goal. "I thought you said I'm not of any use to you!" she shouted at Captain Sparrow. "So why are you holding me captive?"

"P'raps I was a bit... hasty, then, luv," the captain said, turning to regard her again. "You aren't useful to me... yet," he amended, holding up a single finger to accentuate the "yet." He approached her again, swaggering (or was it staggering?) and grinning. "Ye are... a 'diamond in the rough,' if ye will, me lass. But, Miss Gwendolyn Webster," he went on, enunciating her name teasingly, "with the right polishing, and little ransom from yer anxious kin, ye'll be quite useful to me indeed. Now. Wouldn't want you to get hurt, tends to make the kin a bit upset, savvy? Take her below, boys." And with that, he turned on his heel and left her again, whistling tunelessly.


	3. Why Can't I Live with You?

_**Disclaimer:**__ Jack and other wonders belong to the Mouse. Not mine, no profit, no harm intended, savvy?_

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**Chapter 3: Why Can't I Live with You?**

Captain Jack Sparrow glanced briefly at his compass, only to fetch another, closer look at it when the first didn't satisfy him. His brow furrowed as he studied the self-willed needle. True, it wasn't supposed to point north- it wasn't really _supposed_ to point in any cardinal direction, as far as he knew. Still, he knew well enough that something was odd about it- more odd than usual, that is. He stared off in the direction it now pointed, a direction he knew for a fact it hadn't indicated that morning. Frowning at it, he silently asked the device what it was up to now, what it was pointing at. Shaking his head slightly, he put it away and adjusted the wheel of his beloved _Black Pearl_, aiming more or less for Port Royal. At least, he was pretty sure Port Royal was roughly that-a-way.

Jack licked his lips and tugged thoughtfully at his beaded goatee as he watched his crew taking the last of the treasures from their latest looting below decks to be sorted and divided into more or less equal parts. Although, really, as he had expected, most of the rewards that the passenger ship had had to offer had been in the form of slightly fresher food supplies (and snobbish brandy, which he personally cared for quite a bit less than rum) and the personal treasures of the passengers themselves. It had been enough though. It was mostly the adventure and thrill that led the pirates on. Of course, if there were never any profit in it, the thrill itself would dry up. There was a balance to keep: one part adventure plus one part profit for rum and pleasurable company. The rum and pleasurable company kept the spirits stoked for more adventure, which in turn provided enough profit to return again to the sort of delights offered in Tortuga, and so on and so forth. And in between the pleasures of the gaining and squandering of wealth, they lived their lives out with their only love, the sea.

Profit. With this, he turned his mind back to the trouble of the girl. An unexpected surprise, indeed. He still wasn't entirely sure how on earth she had ended up on his ship. Mostly, it amused him, but still, though he certainly would never admit it, he found it just a bit disconcerting that a timid-looking lass like herself had found her way easily enough onto his precious Pearl-and by accident, at that! He might think later about how to prevent the possibility of others swinging onto his ship in the future. However, if he guessed correctly, her aunt and uncle, whoever they may be, were probably well enough off that they would be able to manage a modest ransom to save the life (and honor, for all the stuffy aristocrats knew) of their beloved niece. Modest ransom. He mentally amended this to "generous donation to the niece's kind escorts," and grinned happily.

He normally wouldn't go to the trouble of returning her even for ransom. He didn't much care for dealing with second-hand payments. If possible, he preferred his treasure-taking to be a one-step process, and trading one item (or person) in order to gain the pocketful of gold was rather annoying. He could already be in a bar somewhere stocking up on rum while he was wandering about trading invaluables for valuables.

However, luckily for her, he had already had intentions of going to Port Royal anyway. In the past couple of years, Jack had found it enjoyable to return to Port Royal every few months to visit with his erstwhile companions, Will and Elizabeth. At first he had been just a bit uncomfortable trying to explain to his crew why he ventured so near the well-patrolled port so often. That is, until he'd realized that his men were becoming quite friendly with the half-buccaneer blacksmith and his young bride themselves and quite enjoyed their company, much as they seemed to enjoy the thrill of slipping in and out again right under the Commodore's nose with every daring visit.

Perhaps Will and Elizabeth would join them for their next voyage. They had hinted broadly at the possibility of such, of the thrill of the open sea, the last time Jack had seen them. The prospect of having his friends along for a ride was a rather pleasant one; but at the same time, he mustn't forget that neither of the two fully approved of his chosen way of making a living. Ah, well. A man can't please everyone anyway, right?

Giving his beard-braids a firm tug as though he'd reached some decision and running a hand thoughtfully over his scruffy jaw-line, Jack called to Gibbs. "Man the helm," he ordered. "Keep her toward Port Royal."

"Aye, captain," Gibbs said agreeably as the captain strode past him to his cabin. As soon as he was sure Jack had walked away, Gibbs glanced all around him and pulled a proper compass out of his own pocket and peered up to check the position of the sun. Jack thought his own crazy compass was responsible for keeping the _Pearl_ well-navigated all the time. Well, what Jack didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Gibbs wouldn't disobey a direct order to follow Jack's compass, but in this case, the order was simply to go to Port Royal.

* * *

Gwen picked at the fabric of her skirt. She was beyond bored.

She'd convinced the pirates who had escorted her down here to allow her to relieve herself first. She had been pleased that they had permitted her enough privacy to do so, but was disappointed when she perceived there was no chance of easy escape in such a side-trip. Besides which, where was there to escape to? Even if she could make it all the way to the main deck without being caught, her only escape would be to jump into the sea, as the captain had made so clear to her earlier.

So her pirate-escorts had seen her directly to her cage-like cell, locked her in, and wandered off, either trusting that she wouldn't be able to find a way out of her prison, or knowing that she would still be of little threat even if she could escape.

Her cell itself was exactly that-a bit of metal bar enclosing a relatively small bit of damp, dark space down in the belly of the ship.

Gwen had noticed that a section of the ship's hull which her cage leaned against looked as though it had been patched up. In a roundish area, the wood's black paint seemed darker and less weathered in that spot than the surrounding area, though the repair itself looked to be at least a couple of years old.

She mused for a while on what fantastic adventure had bludgeoned the hole into the side of the ship. Her keen sense of irony and fair imagination painted her an amusing picture of the cocky Captain Sparrow down here in this very cell while his ship was shot at by the English navy. Or even better yet, by other pirates. That would have served him right, she thought bemusedly.

But this pursuit only amused her for a short period of time. Having nothing better to occupy her time, Gwen soon lost herself in other thoughts, remembering when her aunt had chosen for her the material for the very gown that she was now wearing...

* * *

_"You're just as lovely as your mother was," Aunt Laura said, "and twice as strange, I'm sure."_

_Gwen looked to her aunt in shock. That was hardly an appropriate thing to imply about her late mother or herself! But Laura only smiled good-naturedly at her, having either forgotten her words already or having chosen to act as though she hadn't realized she'd said anything amiss._

_"Ah, look at this, my girl! This green would be absolutely charming with that fair skin of yours and your beautiful brown eyes and hair," she exulted, showing Gwen the gold-embroidered sage-green material._

_Laura added a gown of the pale green fabric to her order and took Gwen's arm as they left the dressmaker's shop._

_"Tell me more about Uncle Webster, Aunt Laura," Gwen implored as they stepped outside._

_"Well, I can tell you, he will be positively delighted to learn you're going to him in Port Royal, I assure you. His wife has a good head on her shoulders, too. I've always liked that woman. She and I and my brother-we share the same heart, I've always thought. We've all been anxiously awaiting these days to come, you know."_

_"No, I didn't," Gwen said, somewhat apologetically for her ignorance on the topic. "What exactly have you been awaiting?"_

_Aunt Laura looked taken aback, but after a moment, she seemed to find her tongue, and exclaimed, "Why, my dear child- you! Our brother, your father of course, never really... appreciated your mother in quite the same way we did. He never really seemed to understand her for what she really was. He didn't treat her accordingly, either. And then there was you, growing up all those years, and he showed the same regard for you he did for her. He never realized how... special you are. He kept you in enough money to maintain appearances, but that was hardly the correct path to lead you down. Nothing but money. Pah! No concern for what you really deserve. It's high time you got what's been owed you all your life, what you deserve to have."_

_At this, Laura clasped her niece's hands in her own and smiled at her briefly, an enigmatic and confusing smile. Then she turned and bustled her toward the waiting carriage._

_"Come, Gwen, I wouldn't want you to catch cold. Into the carriage with you. If there's anything I couldn't bear, it's to see you suffer."_

_"Why can't I just stay here with you?"_

_"Oh, you wouldn't want to live with me, Gwen, dear. I'm just a greedy little woman with a house on a hill. In a few months, you'd see fit to thrash me soundly and run off to the sea."_

_"Heavens, Aunt Laura! You say the strangest things sometimes. Of course I would never do any such thing!"_

_"Dear child," Laura went on, as though she hadn't made such odd comments just moments before, "do you remember your mother?"_

_Gwen's hand flew to touch the chain which held her locket. "Of course I remember her."_

_"Your mother, sweet girl, was nothing like me-or any other woman I have ever known. She knew things, and she felt things... differently. She even carried herself differently. When your father married her, I saw at once how unique... how special she was. Like I can tell how special you are."_

_Her lips curled into a warm smile at Gwen, softening her odd words into nothing more than a gentle compliment, though her eyes remained blank._

_Almost as an afterthought, she added, "I just can't be for you what your mother was for you. Your mother guarded you so closely, watching to see that you grew up to be just like her... and I just cannot be that woman for you."_

* * *

"Miss Webster."

Gwen awoke suddenly to the sound of her name and the jangle of keys, wondering when she had fallen asleep and how long she'd been dozing.

"Captain thought ye'd be hungry, wants yeh to join 'im for a meal."

Gwen blinked several times to clear her sleepy vision. She realized that she was, in fact, very hungry indeed. She'd not even eaten breakfast that morning. Besides which, she knew better than to annoy her captors until she better understood her limits within their tempers. So, in the spirit of compliance, she merely nodded agreeably at the pirate.

Gripping at bars above her head, she pulled herself up into a standing position. She instantly became aware of several aches and pains, caused by her awkward sleeping posture, as she had been leaning with her back against the inner hull of the ship. Taking only a few seconds to try to work the kinks out of her stiff joints, she turned her attention back to the crew member who stood waiting for her, holding the cell door open.

The pirate guided her up from the belly of the ship to the deck again. Whether he ordered her to go before him for the sake of making sure she didn't try something stupid while following behind him or whether he merely wanted to watch her lithe figure moving before him in her distinctively feminine way was not something that occurred to her to consider. Had the thought occurred to her, however, she would have had to concede that both points were true, especially if she had noticed the lascivious grin on the pirate's face.

When they reached the main deck, Gwen was surprised to find it to be dusk already. She had slept for far longer than she'd thought she had. There were only a few hands on deck at this hour, the others presumably taking their own evening meal somewhere below. The captain himself stood beside the mainmast, gazing out at the breathtaking view offered by the sun as it sank into the sea at the distant horizon.

"The girl, captain," her pirate-guide said by way of announcing her, after he'd led her to stand behind the captain.

"Ah! Marvelous," the captain said. With one continuous motion, as deceptively unsteady as any movement he made, he scooped the cell keys out of the possession of his crewman and swept Gwen off toward his cabin at the aft of the ship with a hand at her back.

Sparrow pushed the door open ahead of her, and Gwen took in her new surroundings with a quick glance as he nudged her forward into his quarters. One wall of the room, to the left of the door way, was taken up almost entirely by a bed. Directly opposite the door was a heavy scroll desk with several drawers and pigeon-holes. A pair of brilliant lanterns sitting on the desk afforded the room's only light, but they provided ample illumination for the space. Against the third wall, to the right of the door, was a low table with a couple of chairs shoved under it, alongside a heavy wooden trunk with a thick lock at its front. A shallow, high shelf went round the room above eye-level, with lower shelves beneath it on the third wall above the trunk.

Before she could make her token complaint about the impropriety of dining alone with the captain while night was falling, the door shut behind her, and she was trapped inside with the wild-looking man. Another cursory glance around the room revealed no trace of food anywhere, and she turned to find Captain Jack grinning at her, his golden teeth shining in the lantern light.


	4. The Captain's Cabin

_**Disclaimer:**__ Jack and other wonders belong to the Mouse. Not mine, no profit, no harm intended, savvy?_

* * *

**Chapter 4: The Captain's Cabin**

Captain Jack Sparrow waved his hand vaguely in the direction of one of the chairs by the table as he settled himself into the heavier and presumably more comfortable chair in front of his desk. She was actually somewhat chagrined that he hadn't pulled the chair out for her as any gentleman should have- but whoever said he was a gentleman? Gwen dragged a chair away from the table and turned it to face him before sitting down herself. What she wasn't about to admit, though, certainly not even to herself, was that just moments earlier she had been convinced that he'd invited her- no, demanded her presence in his cabin at intentions that were quite a bit less than perfectly-

A knock on the door disturbed her anxious thoughts. The captain uttered something which very well could have been an intelligible word, to more highly-trained hearing, but sounded simply like a sharp grunt to Gwen's ear. The door swung open in response and in traipsed a particularly tall and willowy man with a grimy kerchief tied about his bald head. He carried a gilt tray in his hands, the finery of it ridiculously at odds with his own unpolished appearance. On the tray was a simple meal, the meager fare of a ship that hadn't been in port in a few weeks: bread, a small uneven block of unhealthy-looking cheese, a wooden bowl of a dark substance she wasn't entirely familiar with, two small and frankly sad-looking apples, salt-cured jerked meat, a pair of ornate goblets, and two glass bottles, one with a label pasted on, one without.

"Captain," the man said with a nod as he set the tray beside his leader on the broad desk-top. The man and the captain exchanged an identical broad grin, the same grin which spoke of sea and self and adventure and freedom. The grin that sent a cold chill straight down Gwen's back and settled a stone in her uneasy stomach. The grin that made her suddenly aware of how alone she was- she had only a few people, indirect relations, left to her in the world, and even those were distant to her here and now.

Gwen jumped when she realized that yet again, her mind had wandered away with her. The pirate who'd served them was gone. She was alone with Sparrow. And he was holding a piece of bread out to her.

"Hungry, luv?" he asked, with the air of one repeating himself. He probably _was _repeating himself, Gwen knew. She scolded herself; she would have to keep her mind focused the entire time she was in his company. The entire time she was on the pirate ship, for that matter. She needed to be fully aware of everything that happened. From here on, Gwen felt in her bones, she truly was on her own in the world and she would have to take care of herself. Of course, this was ridiculous- with luck, she would soon be united with her new family, her uncle and aunt. But for the time being, then, she reminded herself.

Gwen accepted the bit of food, both because she was, in fact, very hungry, and because she didn't want to show any defiance in his face just now. As far as she knew, a pirate was a pirate. And a pirate, from the tales and stories she'd heard in her life, were scarcely men- they were rogues with little humanity and no conscience at all. Which meant that she was supposed to be entirely at the mercy of this renegade. Best to play along in the game.

Jack eyed the girl. Flighty little thing. He watched her nibble at the bread he'd given her and shook his head in amusement. He had hoped he'd be able to get some story or other entertainment out of her, but he was beginning to grow bored with the caged-animal appearance. He preferred women with a bit more spirit to them. Truth be told, he preferred even his men (his crew, that is) to be spirited souls. There was no room for dull people around the colorful Captain Jack Sparrow.

Jack ripped off another chunk of the rather dry and stale bread and picked up the bowl of molasses. He peered into as though looking into an abyss for the secret to the meaning of life- and then abruptly dunked his bread into it. "Tell me about yerself, lass," he urged, before taking a bite from his molasses-sopped bread.

"What do you want to know?" the girl asked. Jack was pleased to see a steeled look flash in her brown eyes. So the timid little rabbit was preparing herself to face the wolf? Perhaps this would be fun, after all.

"What's a lass like you doing sailing all by yer onesies from England to Port Royal?" Jack clarified, gesturing with his bread and sending drops of molasses slinging to the floor. His kohl-limned eyes flicked downward to briefly study one of the dark drops where it fell on his expensive-looking rug, then slid back to the girl's face. He saw her staring at the new stains herself, and he quickly popped the rest of the messy morsel into his mouth before it dripped more.

"How did you know I was sailing from England?"

Jack nearly choked with laughter at the silly question as he reached for the two goblets. "Well, ye certainly aren't going to tell me ye were sailing from Africa... or the colonies? There's the bearing of the ship, o' course. And ye were sailing under one o' those," he said, nodding toward the wall that the door was set in.

Jack watched as the girl turned to regard the shelf beside the doorway. The particular item that he indicated to her, a folded Union Jack, rested atop a stack of various flags and banners. Gwen recognized the colors of France, Spain, and Portugal as well she couldn't immediately name before she turned back to Jack. But he wasn't looking at her. His attention had been captured by something else.

Jack studied the labeled bottle for a moment. He gave a noncommittal sort of sound, and poured from the bottle into one of the goblets. He paused momentarily to reminisce on the coup that had earned him this particular goblet, which made him tip his head back and chuckle. Then he turned to Gwen, handing her the other goblet and filling it partially from the bottle.

"To the conquest of the _Brindle Merrimac_," he toasted and raised the goblet to his lips.

"No!" he said, halting abruptly and reaching out to stop Gwen from drinking the toast either. He peered at the goblet again. "I think these are just from that chap in Tortuga." Narrowing his eyes at it for a moment, he shrugged, releasing her wrist, and downed his drink with a wrinkled nose and crossed eyes.

He noticed the girl pausing to consider hers.

"Don't like brandy?" he asked. "Well, if _you_ won't drink it, kind mistress," he said, something of a sarcastic leer to his voice, "I don't know of anyone on this ship who will."

He reached to take the goblet from her, but Gwen clutched it closer to herself and flinched away. She took a tentative sip of it, then swallowed the rest of it in a single draw. She gasped as it burned its way down her throat. If she had been able to stop and look at him, she would have noticed Jack beaming at her. If one had asked why she drank it, she might have made up an answer. She might have said she was trying to win over the pirate, for her safety's sake. But the real answer probably had more to do with the sense that she was outside of judgmental eyes for the first time ever, and she was curious to try the drink without fear of being admonished by society.

Rash. Jack liked that. Something about her screamed naivete, but she had still rashly gulped down that brandy as though it were something she always did. Of course, by the way she reacted, she quite obviously wasn't much of a drinker at all.

Jack snatched up an apple and bit into it, trying to banish the unwelcome taste of the brandy. Tossing another at Gwen (and surprised both to see that she was paying enough attention to see it coming and that she caught it), he moved toward the window over the table. Leaning over the table and swinging the glass open, Jack chucked the bottle of brandy out and listened for the faint but satisfying splash as it fell into the sea. He turned back to catch a glimpse of the girl looking at her apple with a look of some distaste, but she quickly schooled her features into the same half-startled, half-conquered face she'd worn most of the time he looked at her so far. The apples were more than a bit mealy, even he would admit, but he found it even more amusing that she was trying pretend that she was scared enough of him to pretend that the apple was delicious. Jack shook his head a bit, trying to rationalize the rationalization he'd just made, then gave up and lurched back a step or two toward his desk in his perpetual drunken sway.

Picking up the other bottle, full of his cherished rum, Jack settled himself back into his chair. He held the rum out to her in offering, but she politely declined. He was amused, of course, knowing she would most certainly refuse any drink after the brandy, but also relieved that he wouldn't have to share after offering. He upended the bottle of rum, swallowing a huge mouthful of the blessed stuff. Reaching for more bread, he gestured vaguely at her.

"Yer tale, me lass," he prodded. He pulled a drawer of his desk out so he could prop his feet up on it and settled back in his chair, clearly readying himself for a story-telling.

Gwen took another bite of the mealy apple, trying to decide how much she should tell him. She couldn't quite figure out if she was supposed to entertain him or provide him with practical information as to how much ransom he could demand from her Port Royal relatives.

"There's not much to tell," Gwen said, quite frankly, stalling as she tried to decide where to start.

Captain Sparrow said nothing. He took another swig of rum.

Gwen heard a faint sound of metal hitting metal and noticed that he had slipped a ring from one of his hands and was idly weaving the piece of jewelry in and out between the other rings on his fingers. When she looked up again, she found that his eyes were still locked on hers. He smacked his lips and upturned his rum bottle again, still maintaining his expectant stare with one eye.

"Well," Gwen began hesitantly. There really _wasn't_ all that much to tell. "My parents are both dead," she tried.

The captain's face remained expressionless.

"My mother died in childbirth with my brother; neither survived. My father died nearly five months ago now. An aunt- my father's sister, who is a widow herself- saw me off on board the _Graymere_, where you found me."

Sparrow smiled. Gwen assumed that had to do with her slight alteration of the tale- he knew quite well, of course, that in fact, _she_ had found _him_. If it could even be called "finding." And that on board the _Pearl_, regardless.

"I was traveling to Port Royal to take up residence with my only other living relations, my father's brother and his wife and three children," she added, then fell silent.

"How did your 'father' die?" he asked after a short space, mimicking the accent and tone in the way she had said "father."

Gwen was a little surprised at this question. Jack was simply trying to pry a more entertaining story from her- he was hoping for a gory intrigue culminating in a fight to the death. Or perhaps a terrific accident. If Gwen had known that, she might have better understood why he looked somewhat disappointed when she replied simply, "The doctor said it was his heart."

Trying to prod entertainment from a different source, he asked, "That aunt- the widow- why did she send you all the way from England to the Caribbean?" He held out his hands far apart, one as he said "England," the other, with his rum, at "Caribbean."

"Where there are scalawags like me to steal young maidens from their floating palaces in the dead of night," he added with a gold-edged grin and a long pull from his "Caribbean" rum.

Gwen saw that he was playing her own game with her. She chose to neatly sidestep and deny the little detail that it was her own fault she was on a pirate ship- he chose to dance around it and mock her.

But then she found herself distractedly wondering if most of the pirate tales she had heard- which admittedly weren't many and were mostly from the crew of the _Graymere_- were yarns spun of the same sort of half-truths as the twist of facts he'd just concocted so easily. That the pirate-captain was a scallywag, well- she could easily grant him that. And she herself was indeed a young maiden. But beyond that... It had been bright morning when the Graymere, hardly a floating palace even with a bit of imagination, had been raided by the pirate crew. And if he had indeed "stolen" her, if that was the appropriate word to use, then all of the booty his crew had "stolen" had really hopped onto his deck on its own as well. He was scarcely the ogre-like monster that polite society's tales painted of all lawless souls.

"Well, why don't _you_ tell _me_ a tale then, if mine don't satisfy you?" Gwen asked after a moment, truly hoping to hear an adventure tale from the buccaneer before her. In the next second, though, she wished to draw her rash words back when he narrow his eyes at her. She almost expected a blow or at least an angry outburst- but his response was mild.

"You're avoiding me question again, luv," he said, not noticing the small sigh of relief she uttered at his calm words as he emptied his rum bottle. "Why'd Aunt England send an innocent like you across the ocean on yer onesies? She the one who bought you those togs?"

As he spoke, he dropped his feet to the floor and crossed his room to rummage under his bed. Producing another bottle of his favorite spirits, he flipped his hat onto his desk beside the food tray and flopped on his back onto his bed. He settled his head comfortably on one arm against his pillow, uncorked his new rum bottle with his teeth and was about to take a drink when he noticed Gwen's continued silence. He raised his head to look at her. She was giving him an incredulous look.

"How did you know my aunt bought this dress?" she asked at length.

Jack grinned and took a swig of rum. "I _didn't_ know, luv," he confessed cheekily. "Jes' figured women pick out gowns together, so yer aunt has more to do with it than yer sire. Auntie pay, or did Papa leave 'is dear girl an inheritance?"

Gwen's face flushed.

"I was not his 'dear girl,'" she insisted more vehemently than she'd intended, unhappy about being forced to admit what she had always simply accepted- she was merely her father's offspring, not his beloved daughter.

"So that's a 'no'?" Jack asked, hiding his smirk behind his rum bottle.

"That's none of your business," Gwen replied firmly.

Jack seriously doubted that she had any gold of her own hidden within her skirts somewhere (in which case he would certainly _make_ it his business), so he didn't press the matter.

Neither of them spoke for several long moments, Gwen shifting uneasily, Jack perfectly at ease with the situation. Finally, realizing that her earlier request hadn't been denied, merely stepped around, Gwen nudged, "So tell me of your adventures stealing young maidens from floating palaces."

Jack took several seconds to respond, saturating his tongue with rum, presumably to make his yarn-weaving smoother. (His words were by now slurring quite noticeably- more than his usual unique drawl, that is.)

"I've got no interest in kidnapping ladies," he said pointedly after a space. "They bloody ruin everything. Besides, I've got no use for women as aren't perfectly _willing_, if ye catch me drift."

He glanced over at her, purposefully letting his gaze slide down her figure.

"Sorry," he apologized insincerely. "I forgot me present company- virgin ears." He waved his hand in a vague gesture up and down to indicate her body. "And all that." He grinned impishly at her blush and drank of his rum again.

"Proper ladies tend to get ideas about me rum," Jack went on, gesturing in bewildering patterns with his free hand. "Ideas like throwing it into a bonfire to signal redcoats after me." He shuddered at the memory.

"Don't _you_ get any ideas, luv," he warned in a low voice, pointing his bottle vaguely in her direction.

"If kidnapping doesn't appeal to you, then why are you holding me here?" Gwen asked.

"I'm not holding ye at all, luv- you're sadly on the wrong side of the room."

Gwen fought the color she knew was rising in her cheeks. "You know very well what I meant!" she exclaimed, exasperated.

"Ye should thank me, luv, for not throwing you off to sink to the bottom of Davy Jones' Locker, as being the only other option," Jack answered matter-of-factly, though his serious thought lost something in the translation through his rum-drenched tongue.

Assuming he was referring to the ocean itself as somebody's "locker," Gwen had to confess to herself that she hadn't really though about that. She couldn't very well have been simply returned to her own rapidly-fleeing ship. What else _was_ there to be done? At least Captain Sparrow had promised- for whatever his promises were worth- to see her safely to her uncle's household.

"I'm not a kidnapper of bonnie lasses," Jack reiterated, then paused, remembering a spirited piratess he'd had "business dealings" with several years earlier. "-Of innocent young ladies," he amended, "but I never said I wasn't an opportunist. S'long as somebody will pay to have ye back, _ye're_ an opportunity. Didn't we already talk about this, luv?"

Gwen almost permitted herself to smile at the selfish logic in his answer, but held her countenance blank. She didn't mention that she sincerely hoped, for both their sakes, that her uncle would indeed be willing to pay her ransom. She pretended to idly study the half-eaten apple she still held in one hand, waiting for him to break the silence next.

He finally did- with a light, snuffling snore.

"Captain?" Gwen called uncertainly after a minute or two. She stood carefully, setting her apple down on the tray. Gwen crossed the room and looked down at him. With the kohl rimming his devilish eyes and the smirk he still wore, the pirate didn't even look innocent in sleep. Beguiling was more the word.

"Captain Sparrow!" she tried again, more forcefully. She dared to poke his arm when he still didn't respond. Nothing.

With a heavy sigh, and quite unsure what she, the captive, was supposed to do when her captor fell asleep, she stood over him awkwardly for a moment. Common sense, she thought, to take the rum from him lest he spill what was left. But she couldn't pry his fingers loose from the bottle.

At a loss, Gwen let her arms fall to her sides again. She glanced around the room anxiously and then back at the sleeping captain. In spite of his repeated reassurances that he just wanted a ransom and wouldn't hurt her, she was no dunce. She wasn't going to trust someone so dangerous just because he asked her to. As she slid her gaze unconsciously down his body, her attention was drawn by the weapons still at his sides. Did she dare...?

On an impulse, Gwen seized one of his pistols where it was still tucked into his sash. She jumped- half in guilt, half in surprise- when his hand just as quickly clamped around her wrist with a crushing grip. She slowly turned frightened eyes to meet his and accept whatever punishment he saw fit to bestow on her brashness- but his eyes were still closed in sleep! Gwen wrenched her arm from his grasp, studying his face all the while. Nothing.

Gwen was doubly relieved. Relieved that she hadn't _really_ been caught in the act- it was apparently just some paranoid reflex of his. And relieved that she hadn't succeeded. What exactly had she intended to do with the gun anyway? Shoot the man who was probably her only chance of still making it safely into Port Royal? She knew she wasn't capable of killing anyone anyway. Even if she could use the threat of the weapon to somehow aid her in escaping from all of the pirates on the ship, there was nowhere to escape to except the waves, another fact she'd just set down to herself. One of these days, her presumptuous, thoughtless actions were going to get her killed. Wasn't that what her aunt had told her countless times in the months she'd spent with her?

Gwen rapidly reviewed her current situation, forcing herself to think carefully before doing anything else. The captain was deeply asleep. She couldn't wake him. And she wasn't about to spend the whole night in a man's cabin, no matter what innocent truths she could claim or whether the scruffy crew of the Pearl cared one way or the other about propriety. She turned and walked to the door. Opening it didn't seem to cause any reaction in the slumbering captain, so she simply slipped out, gently pulling the door closed behind her.


	5. An Overview of the Trip to Port Royal

_**Disclaimer:**__ Things that are not mine: Jack, the Black Pearl, etc., profit from this tale. Things that are mine: Anything you don't recognize as belonging to the Mouse._

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**Chapter 5: Where to Go**

Gwen stood at the bow of the ship, watching the gray pre-dawn sky brighten to a violet-tinted blue. She felt for all the world as though she were flying. The wind was in her hair and she could look down at the obsidian waters and feel that she was rushing over the sea on her own power.

Funny, yet even a week ago, she had been standing at this very position on a different ship. She wondered if the _Graymere_ had made it to Port Royal yet or if perhaps the _Pearl_ had already overtaken her by slipping by on a slightly different course. The pirate crew kept assuring her, proudly, that there was no ship faster than the _Pearl_. She didn't know much about ships, but she did notice that somehow, the _Black Pearl_ seemed to have more sails arranged in a more complicated array than what the _Graymere_ had boasted.

How long _had_ it been? Four days, she believed. She wasn't quite sure. Time didn't seem to matter, though she was of course anticipating her safe return to more civilized company.

Ever since that first night, when she had slept on the deck, leaning against the door to the captain's cabin, she had been allowed to wander the ship at her leisure and free will. At first she had thought that by not causing any sort of trouble, she had won the privilege- for good behavior, as it were. Apparently, Captain Jack hadn't recalled her brash attempt to steal his pistol, and he'd been amused, not angered, when he'd opened his door the next morning and she had fallen back onto his feet in an undignified heap of brown locks and green silk.

The captain had also been kind enough- if one could call it that- to lend her a rug, a pillow, and a blanket. Then he had shown her an empty couple of storerooms for her to pick a place to sleep. She didn't argue with the lack of even a straw mattress because she saw it as an immense improvement to being locked in the brig. It was also infinitely better than sleeping on the main deck, where the handful of red-eye-shift crewmen tramped by every hour or so. At least she had a door she could close.

The captain had assured her, quite seriously (though he had a teasing look to his dark eyes), that he simply didn't see the point in confining her to the brig when she couldn't steal anything and hope to get away with it, she couldn't escape to anywhere but the arms of Poseidon, and there was little chance she'd try to hurt anyone. The important thing, though, he had stressed to her, was that _she_ was safe to roam without bondage because of "the Code." He had added, cryptically, that he had all of his men's signatures, so she needn't worry.

She had since learned more of this "Code." In fact, it had surprised her when she found out that the pirates, these thieves and criminals, outlaws all, actually abided by a written set of rules. One pirate had helpfully informed her that the entire crew had together drafted their own particular Code, unique to the _Pearl_, after the curse had been lifted and her reinstated captain saved from the noose. The crew had all signed their Code then, and any new crew members they picked up were required to agree to abide under it by signing it as well. Gwen had wanted to ask about the "curse," but let it slide by as seafarers' lore, though she did remain curious about the insinuated rescue of the captain.

The point the captain had been trying to make to her, she finally learned, was that, in accordance with the Code, rape was heavily frowned upon and severely punished. Which also explained his earlier comment about women being useful only if they were "willing."

Gwen actually did take comfort in this Code rule. And the existence of the Code and other such seemingly small matters were beginning to convince her of the humanity still within these scoundrels, a fact she hadn't previously believed she could ever confess about pirates. In some small part she even identified with them. It seemed that, though they certainly _were_ criminals, they were poorly understood by outsiders. She felt a little the same way, if she were honest.

However, while the men were forbidden to touch, they certainly weren't bashful about _looking_. Ogling, more appropriately put. Two or three men each day were bold enough to tease her and bid her- in speech hardly appropriate- to keep them company through the dread cold of the night, as they put it.

At first Gwen was scandalized by their behavior. But she quickly became accustomed to tolerating the catcalls and longing stares. In fact, she was almost too ashamed to admit it to herself, but she found that, inappropriate or not, she came to have some appreciation for them. The attention rather flattered her, though she was sure she shouldn't admit it.

She had always thought herself plain by society's standards. But these men didn't seem to judge her as plain. They simply liked that she was female, and their simple appreciation was refreshing.

Gwen took a deep breath of the morning sea air to clear her mind of such vain thoughts. And she was immediately grateful again for the ability to draw said breath. She'd managed to cut the ties of her corset and free herself of its bonds with a borrowed slip-knife, borrowed time, and borrowed luck. She had borrowed a knife the captain's quarters, where she dined every evening before retiring to her below-decks storeroom for the night's sleep. She'd found time in his cabin alone with the knife the second evening when he left her in his cabin to go speak with his first mate. She had managed to unfasten her dress, cut off the offending garment, and awkwardly re-button her gown. She had been extremely lucky that the captain hadn't returned in the midst of her struggles while she re-arranged her clothing.

In the end, she was immensely relieved to find that her figure was still accommodated by her sage-green silken gown. She found it somewhat more difficult to button without a corset to cinch and smooth her figure (and admittedly, without any assistance- she almost missed her pair of pesky maids), but far more comfortable, at least. And the corset itself- cursed thing- was left to sort out its own fate out the captain's window. She fancied that it and the brandy were both swallowed by a shark, who spit them back out because of the inherent unsavory natures of both.

Gwen suddenly heard foot-steps behind her, approaching in the leisurely pace she had come to associate with pirates in general- men completely in charge of their own time and interests. She then proceeded to silently praise herself. She had been finding it difficult to abide by her oath to herself that she remain alert and not become too lost in thought during her entire tenure on-board the _Black Pearl_.

"Gwendolyn, luv, ye awake or not?" Jack asked, trying to catch her attention for the second time.

She turned, unable to keep from looking somewhat crestfallen. She'd missed the first greeting he'd offered because she had been too busy inwardly congratulating herself on not being too lost in thought to hear things. Irony is an unkind interloper at times.

"Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Sparrow?" she asked, returning the greeting. "_Captain_ Sparrow, I'm terribly sorry." She had the grace to offer a sweet smile, with still a touch of a nervous quiver at the corners, to pardon her slip. She knew that the captain liked to be teased and was easier to deal with when he was in an amused mood, but she was still a bit nervous lest she go too far and anger the outlaw.

Jack's eyes flashed as he briefly considered her mistake in forgetting his correct title. He was beginning to entertain the notion that she purposely did such things to irritate him and then hid behind her innocence as an excuse. Jack wafted these thoughts away with a sweeping hand gesture.

"Well, m'lady, he answered, matching her teasing tone, "what did ye fancy helpin' me with?" He offered her a lopsided grin which suggested that he had already thought of several ways she might aid him.

Lest he ask for assistance removing some article of his clothing, Gwen changed the subject quickly.

"I think both my legs and stomach have finally found peace with the sea," she commented, the boring update the first thing she could think to still his innuendos and lustful hints at the unintentional lead she'd given him. She instantly found herself wishing she hadn't mentioned any of her body parts, though.

The captain, thankfully, didn't comment on her physique.

"Almost too late," he observed innocuously. "I was only coming to tell ye, I expect we'll be in Port Royal by noon. P'raps ye might share the names of yer kin so's I might find them?"

The gleam in his narrowed eyes shone of avarice, and she heard the demand concealed in his surprisingly polite request. He was lusting after her ransom now. The pirate and his treasure. And if there was anything she had learned from her discussions with him over evening meals, it was that she didn't want to come between him and what he wanted.

She answered quickly, "Benjamin and Catherine Webster."

But Gwen was almost sorry at his news of the imminent end of their journey to Port Royal. Ever keeping in mind that the man was unlawful, a criminal, a villain, she had come to enjoy their discussions. When she "dined" with him in the evenings, she usually found the most interesting fare offered were his tales and legends. The two had also argued long hours into the night over a good many things the last two evenings in a row. About politics (mostly about the fact that he didn't care for them), about pickpocketing (mostly about the fact that she didn't care for that), and all manner of similar substance and subjects. Although he enjoyed his rum nightly, he was apparently in the habit of rationing it (especially considering how long the _Pearl_ had been out of port) except on special occasions, such as the successful raid of two ships. Apparently, from what Gwen gathered, the captain had still been drunk from his celebration of another ship they'd raided when the crew had spotted the _Graymere_. His drinking beyond then was in comparative moderation, and he didn't feal asleep while talking to her again past that first night.

Just last night, though, he had asked for a story and she had told him the only pirate tale she knew: the one about Black Bill Jacobs. Jack had listened appreciatively, but had asked her lots of questions about how she knew the tale. She had simply shrugged and insisted that it was his turn. He had refused, claimed to be tired, and shooed her out the door.

Now, Jack, who had paused to watch the fledgling light of the sunrise playing in the water at the horizon, pulled out his compass as a matter of habit. Without bothering to take leave of Gwen, he turned to go back to the helm, studying the wayward needle for a moment or two before remembering its recent malfunctioning. He knew it wasn't exactly _supposed_ to point north (although it sometimes suited its whim to do so). However, while he normally understood well enough what it tried to tell him, or at least well enough to steer by, he didn't completely understand what sort of voodoo enchantments it bore or the tricks it sometimes chose to play. And he certainly wouldn't admit to his crew that his own compass had gotten the best of him. Nor would he let any know that his route to Port Royal was based mostly on instinct, the sun's path, and an exact knowledge of what their position had been before his compass went _off_- well, more _off_ than usual.

Gwen paid no mind when Captain Sparrow walked off, but her attention was recaptured when she heard his boots retracing their steps.

Jack walked backwards along the same path he had just traversed, staring at his compass. Then he crossed behind Gwen, who spun about in confusion to watch his progress. He turned and walked along the rail, crossing on her other side and finally stopping before her, in the spot where he had stood moments earlier.

Eyebrows lowered, lips pursed, he fixed the compass with a disapproving scowl.

"What is it?" Gwen finally couldn't help asking.

"It's-" Jack paused, shaking his head slightly, setting one string of beads jangling against another. He lowered and stretched out his hand so she could see the face of the device. He waved his hand slowly back and forth in front of her and pointed at the moving needle with his other hand.

"It's pointing at _you_, luv."


	6. A Compass and a Captain's Duty

_**Disclaimer:**__ Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me. Not much else for me, though. Don't own but a few of the characters... don't make any profit..._

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**Chapter 6: A Compass and a Captain's Duty**

"It's pointing at you, luv."

Gwen stared at the misled compass for a moment, dumbfounded. She slowly raised her eyes to meet the captain's gaze. Whatever expression she was expecting to find on his face, she was startled by the look she met in his eyes, darkened with kohl and a cool, calculating stare. They were narrowed at her, and she could almost hear his mind turning as he sorted through things. Certainly he had more knowledge than she did about his mistaken device, and he was clearly puzzling through what he knew of it. She shook her head slightly, not willing to allow herself to get lost in his pirates' legends and wild stories.

"This is ridiculous," she said finally. She reached and snatched the compass from his hand to examine it more closely, though she was still unable to break her gaze from his wild eyes. However, when those eyes flicked down to the compass, which she now held loosely in her left hand, she couldn't resist glancing down at it herself.

"That's interesting," Captain Sparrow commented, his voice sounding low and distant.

The compass needle, which had been pointing undeniably straight at her middle, instantly spun as soon as she held it in her hand. It was now steadfastly pointing out a new direction. The captain turned to stare out over the starboard side of the ship, in the direction it indicated, half-hoping and almost expecting to find the answer to the mystery lurking on the horizon in the form of a ship or some magic-shrouded island. But there was nothing to be seen except sun and sea, the same basic elements he might normally expect of a Caribbean day.

"What's this all about?" Gwen asked accusingly.

He carefully lifted the compass from her palm, ignoring her question.

But the fickle needle immediately spun around to beg attention back to Gwen. When Jack dropped it back into her hand, the compass placidly shifted its focus once again to its new direction, starboard and toward the aft of the ship. Turning once again to peer at the horizon, Jack used the freshly-risen sun- east- to estimate that the compass' new favorite direction was about east-northeast. But he just as quickly turned back to Gwen.

"Looks like there's a thing or two ye forgot to mention, luv," he said, gently taking his compass back and fixing her with a suspicious glare. There was clearly something unnatural about her, or at least something abnormal, for his unnatural compass to be acting so strangely. Or, stranger than usual, that is. He closed the compass with a snap and tucked it safely away.

Gwen furrowed her brow, pointing an accusing finger at him. What on earth was he up to? She had already decided he was daft; all he was proving was that he was _totally_ mad.

"It's _your _stupid compass! How am I responsible if it doesn't work correctly?"

"You-" he began, pointing his own finger between her eyes, but his words were interrupted.

"Captain." Gibbs approached the two, one hand suspiciously near his ever-present flask, oblivious to their little mystery with the compass.

Jack straightened and whirled to eye his first mate, half expecting that it was time for the daily reminders of all the things he had done recently to tempt fate. Not the least of which included having a woman on board, especially when they'd only just settled Anamaria with her own crew and a commandeered merchant vessel. And he'd cracked the edge of a mirror nearly a week ago. And Gibbs was still on about the fact that he'd had them leave port that one time, several months ago, close to midnight on a Thursday. Gibbs figured it was close enough to count as Friday, which was a terrible bad-luck day to begin a voyage.

But, surprisingly, his first mate had nothing to say of luck this morning. Or not yet, at least.

"Captain, we's just lookin' fer ye below deck. Smithy and ol' Cannon Tom are having a bit of a... disagreement, as usual, ye know, but a bit more rowdy than usual. Men are getting tired of 'em, need you to set 'em square."

"Ah," Jack said in enlightenment. "O' course." The compass momentarily forgotten in light of this, he eagerly moved off after Gibbs to perform one of the lesser-used powers of his title. Keeping the peace on his ship. Trouble should be started only with everyone else in the world, not with shipmates.

Not that Jack really held such very lofty ideals. The two men in question could quarrel all they wanted. He still actually found their constant antagonism rather amusing, and his men generally got along well enough besides. But this was a golden opportunity of a different sort he simply couldn't pass up, and he tramped along in sudden high spirits, leaving Gwen standing behind, confused and at a loss.

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"What are ye doing?" Jack yelled in alarm. The galley was a bedlam. Men who had obviously just been eating were now on their feet, yelling about their overturned platters and spilt cups. One or two had taken to using parts of their disrupted meals as projectiles, throwing bits of bread and fruit at whomever they deemed culprits in the matter. One of the younger fellows, a more recent addition to the crew, as of six or seven months ago, had apparently been mopping at the crumb-covered floor, for it was now slick with a great deal of water spilled from his sudsy mopping basin. And the young man was dodging about with his dripping mop, doing a poor job of trying to remedy the situation, hollering unnecessary warnings about the obviously slippery floor. Card-players from one table were scrabbling and sliding about on the wet floor, collecting lost cards and gold and silver pieces that were continuously being knocked from the table. Others were still trying to defend the card-table from the commotion, no doubt since they had good hands in the game, and were defending it by making a fair racket of yelling themselves.

And in the midst of it all were two men, one of whom was now attempting to use the emptied mop-basin as a weapon against the other. The basin was a heavy wooden affair, one of the odd assortment of various basins and buckets the pirates procured from kind, if reluctant, contributing merchants. It was far too bulky to be of any real benefit as a weapon, though, and the man was simply lunging about swinging it haphazardly and slipping on the wet floor. The other man was doing his best to avoid the first man, scampering about and dodging blows that fell impartially on tables, chairs, benches, and, occasionally, unfortunate innocent men. Well, men innocent in this particular instance, anyway.

"What are ye doing to me ship?" Jack bellowed when his first cry went largely unnoticed. At the same time, he dove after Cannon Tom, catching the burly man about the neck to halt him and then wrenching the hefty basin away from him. Meanwhile, some of the card-players had been trying to catch Smithy, and as the man evaded them, he ducked near enough to Jack for him to snag the fleeing sailor by the shirt.

Both men now under some amount of control and finally listening, Jack shoved them none too gently toward a bench. "Sit," he growled.

He stalked toward one of the room's heavy supports, pulling a protruding dagger, one of theirs, no doubt, from the wood as carefully as though removing it from living flesh that could actually feel the prick of the blade. He paused to mournfully consider a medium-sized dent in the far wall, a souvenir of Tom's clumsy basin-weapon. His gaze flicked disdainfully down at the shining, slick floor. At least it was clean. If only it hadn't been flooded as well…

"Now," Jack began, switching instantly from disgruntled captain to unruffled peacemaker with an alacrity that made the two perpetrators uneasy. "You first," the captain said calmly to Tom, well aware that the every crew-member gathered in the galley at the moment was now watching the spectacle with merry fascination.

"It were Smithy here," Cannon Tom insisted immediately, jerking a thumb towards his shipmate. "Ever since 'e's been quartermaster, I've knowed he weren't dividin' the booty square. He keeps extry, Cap'n, what he don't split wi' the rest of us."

Had the accusation even been five-percent true, it would have caused a commotion of biblical proportions, as the other crew-members would certainly have attacked Smithy. However, there were only some eye-rolls and murmurs and little else. Jack took notice of the relative calm that followed his words. If the rest of the crew didn't react, then it probably wasn't a fair accusation.

"He lies! He don't know what he's on about," Smithy abruptly defended himself at the top of his lungs. "Naught but accusations, he got no proof. Like to see 'im prove it! Ask 'im, ask 'im to prove it!"

"You know better'n I what you've stole, you blaggart!" Tom began to shout while Smithy was still yelling.

"Gen'l'men." Jack shushed them with a finger at his lips, making soothing gestures with his other hand. "Now. Smithy, you've been accused by this-"

"Lying scoundrel," Smithy interjected spitefully.

"This loyal crewman," Jack went on, ignoring him, "who is merely concerned about the fairness of the treasure-sharing on board the Black Pearl, an honorable cause, to be sure-" (here he executed a small bow, hands pressed with palms together, toward Tom) "-of making a small error in your judgment of the value of the swag. What say you in defense?"

Smithy was a bit bewildered by his captain's manner of putting things- as was intended- and it took him a moment before he answered. "It's not true, Cap'n," he said more quietly, much pacified by Jack's talking-down. "He saw me keepin' back your own share not 'alf an hour afore I took it to ye four days ago, after the men all came about to claim their'n. Same as I allays do, sir, you know better'n me I allays brings your'n to ye right away, so's no one else gets it."

"Ah! There, you see?" Jack said, privately pleased he'd found the truth of the misunderstanding so easily.

"He had this very morning a gold watch I saw 'im keeping back from that last plunder extry above his own share," Tom insisted, not willing to let go yet. "If it were yours he were keeping it for, why's he got it this morning? says I."

"Well, that's very simple, me lad," Jack said with a grin. "Smithy and I traded a bit after he brought me share of the loot to me. Smithy's completely impartial, don't even know what he gives hisself. So we traded after we got a good look there in me cabin at what we had, same's any of ye do. He got the watch in exchange for a fair lady's necklace, for that wench o' his in Tortola," Jack added, gesturing grandly with his hands to mimic a lady putting on a necklace. The assembled crew chuckled appreciatively.

"So, we see," he concluded, "it were nothing but a misunderstanding. Cannon Tom, I thank ye for guarding the fairness of our treasury, and Smithy, I commend ye as always for kindly defending my share from the rest of bloody scallywags on this ship," he said with a smirk, swinging his arms about to include everyone in the room. The men, far from being insulted, laughed at his jeer.

"John, me boy!" Jack went on, summoning the mop-boy. "Bring forth some o' the brandy, and a pair o' mugs. This is an occasion what calls for the finest drink available."

When these were brought to him, Jack bid Tom and Smithy to share a few mugs together in celebration of their truce, as they were both honorable pirates, both only thinking of the best for their fellow-pirates, and weren't really all that different after all.

Jack left the galley in considerably better order than he found it in. The crewmen had recollected all of the things knocked off tables or thrown about, and the men were now in somewhat better spirits for Jack's subtle mockery, which had amused them. But best of all, he had accomplished his goal in foisting some more of that bloody brandy off on someone else. That was one less bottle his crew could send him with his dinner, as they'd been pretending it was too good for the likes of them and had replaced his normal rum with the high-nosed stuff. As a result, he'd nearly drunk all of the last of the secret stashes of rum he kept about his cabin.

In better spirits himself, he headed back above deck, thoughts of his demented compass far from his mind.


	7. Concerning Turners and Websters and Rans...

_**Disclaimer:**__ The _Black Pearl_ is not mine. The booty she rakes in belongs to the Mouse. Her captain and crew, however, have been kidnapped by me... And I'm still not gaining anything by means of ransom money, even._

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**Chapter 7: Concerning Turners and Websters and Ransom**

His crew at peace again, Jack spent part of his morning thereafter studying his charts, deciding which trade routes the _Black Pearl_ would be haunting in the next few months. He intended to take a holiday in Tortuga first, for his own sake and the sakes of his crew. After all, what good was treasure if a man couldn't spend it on drink and pleasurable company? Eventually, his thoughts on navigation led him back to the mystery of his quirky compass. Now, removed from the actual circumstances surrounding its acting up, it was easy for him to question if there was anything strange about the lass herself or whether it really was just his compass' oddities. He gave up trying to decipher which for the moment.

From there, his thoughts of Gwen led him to begin contemplating how many gold pieces to demand of the Port Royal Websters. The tricky thing about kidnapping and the main reason he didn't like it was that it was difficult to set a price. When you're trying to sell a person back to their family, you've only got a market of one. So if your one buyer doesn't like the price-tag, you're pretty much stuck with having to follow through with threats on their lives and such. Unable to arrive at a solid guess of how much Miss Gwendolyn was worth, he decided he'd use the Turners for information. Just as he'd determined thus, word came that land had been spotted. Port Royal. They'd made excellent time, thanks to a good strong tailwind.

Jack gave special orders that the _Pearl_ veer off toward a smaller, little-used bay to the eastern side of the main harbor, as per usual. He dared not venture far into the shallow waters there with the _Pearl_, but set off in shore-boat. He took Gwen with him, to save himself the trouble of having to fetch her when the time came to trade her for his reward, and left instructions concerning when and where he would rendezvous again with his ship. The _Pearl_ then slipped away to lurk a league or two off-shore, and away from the usual flows of aquatic traffic into the port.

"Why did we not go into the harbor?" Gwen asked when he had rowed them about three-quarters of the way to shore. She'd seen the tiny ships and buildings of the main part of Port Royal from afar shortly after the island had first been spotted, while this nearly deserted bay provided a view of only a few buildings, farther up a steep, tree-covered hill-side.

"One," Jack said, pulling the oars through the water in a comfortable, familiar rhythm, "there's an old chum of mine here who would recognize me ship right off. We've got a bit of game going on," he explained enigmatically, thinking of Norrington, "and I wouldn't want him to get the upper hand in knowing I'm here.

"Two, yer ship very well may have beat us here, or it will be arriving shortly, and it's fair to expect the bloody fools will raise a fuss about pirates nearby as soon as their boots hit the dock. And three, neither one nor two contributes very well to my sneaking ye into town quietly and finding these bloody relatives of yers."

"So where are we going now?"

"To shore," Jack answered with a smirk.

"And after that?" she asked, having become somewhat accustomed to the way he liked to try annoying her.

"I'm going to take ye to a secluded little spot I know of, where I'll lash you to a tree and rip yer dress to shreds, and then I'll ravish ye and have me filthy way with ye till you bring the whole fort of soldiers down on us with yer moaning."

"And after that?" Gwen asked, hesitating only a second.

"After that, you'll probably beg me to do it again," he said facetiously as he beached the shore-boat. Effectively silenced, Gwen allowed herself to be led into the tropical vegetation, trying not to picture the scenario he'd just laid out to her. She was secretly glad to be able to remind herself of the rules that he chose to live by. He wouldn't dare.

After a long hike- an awkward one for Gwen in her skirts and inappropriate shoes- over the top of the ridge separating them from the populated parts of the island that made up Port Royal, and back down on the other side, Gwen found herself being pulled into a back street of the town. Here Jack had her walk in front of him, lest she try to escape him in the bustle of people. Guiding her way with simple spoken directions of where to turn, he walked with his eyes downcast, a pace or two behind, pretending to be a servant of the lady he followed, but he was hardly dressed the part. He was adorned with far too many jangling beads and buckles to be a simple serving-man. It was a fair, bright day, and townspeople were out and about on errands and engaging in all manner of work and play, so they were drawing more than a few curious stares as people paused briefly to watch the sophisticated young miss and her colorful companion.

Finally, Jack halted Gwen near a large house and led her in sneaking around to the back lest anyone take note of strange visitors at the Turners. It was bad enough that they had already caught so much attention. Not that it really mattered, so long as no one thought it curious enough to mention to a soldier.

As it happened, Will Turner and his young wife were just discussing over afternoon tea how long it had been since they'd last seen or heard from their errant pirate-friend when they heard the back door open and close. Moments later, Jack Sparrow came jingling into their lives again with a rogue smile and a small train of people following behind him. A young lady, well-dressed but looking a bit worn and missing a hat, came into the room just behind the pirate captain, apparently uncertain about whether she'd just broken into a house with him or not. After her came two or three servants of the Turners' own household, berating the "impudent cad" for barging in unannounced and apologizing profusely to the master of the house for their ill guard in allowing the fellow to enter without prior approval.

The servants were reassured and dismissed, then William extended his hand to Jack.

"We were just thinking of you, Jack," he commented as he shook the older man's hand.

"Were you, now?" Jack said impishly, taking Elizabeth's extended hand. "My dear, sweet love," he said in a lofty tone to her, bending to kiss her hand. In jest, he pushed her sleeve away to reveal most of her forearm and pretended to lavish her hand and wrist with kisses. "You haven't missed me too terribly, have you, m'lady?"

Will lifted an eyebrow as his wife withdrew her hand. "She's _my_ lady," he said, thought his voice held nothing defensive or upset. He ignored the look Elizabeth gave him at the possessive statement.

"You haven't introduced us to the lady you brought with you," Elizabeth said pointedly then, turning to smile in her direction.

"Ah, yes!" He took a few steps toward Gwen, taking her by the hand and nudging her forward with an arm at her back. "Just a friend, brief acquaintance. Miss Gwendolyn... Marseilles," he said as he seated Gwen at the table and then pulled a chair back for himself. Helping himself to some of the remains of their tea snacks, he leaned back and set his feet up on the edge of the table.

"She's French," he added. "Beautiful singing voice. Paints landscapes on teapots."

He deliberately and studiously ignored the looks they were all giving him. Gwendolyn was accustomed to his deviant manners by now, but wasn't entirely certain why he'd introduced her inaccurately. Will was giving him the sort of look that suggested perhaps Jack had accidentally used lines he'd heard before. Elizabeth was divided between pinning Jack with a reproving glare and providing Gwen with proper introductions and tea service herself. Gwen was grateful for the tea, having had nothing but stale ship's-water for days. Pirates weren't very diverse in their beverage-choices, it seemed, usually sticking to water and liquor.

"How've ye been?" Jack asked nonchalantly, trying to detract attention from Gwen, and gulped down in one draught a cup of tea he'd poured himself. He wrinkled his nose and stuck his tongue out briefly. "Ye still drink this awful stuff?" he choked out, snatching a napkin off the table and wiping off his tongue.

The Turners, well used to Jack's idiosyncrasies, ignored them. Letting his treatment of his lady friend pass for the moment as well, Elizabeth took Will's hand. Smiling, she said, "Will and I are expecting."

Jack reached again toward the tray at the middle of the table. "Expecting what?" he asked. Had he promised to bring them some souvenir or trinket he'd forgotten?

"A baby," Will clarified.

Jack's dark eyes flicked from Will to Elizabeth, down towards her abdomen, which betrayed nothing yet, and back to Will. He grinned. "So you're not a eunuch after all, aye? Took ye long enough, mate."

"We thought we might take you up your offer now, take a bit of a holiday," Elizabeth went on. "Will's far ahead, completely finished with commissioned work for the time being down at the forge," she continued, "and there's the new apprentice boy can keep up with the less-skilled work needed for a while. While we have the time..." Her hand flew unconsciously to her stomach.

Gwen sat quietly, watching and listening, much intrigued by the idea that a pirate had respectable people for friends. And by the idea that there were actually people who would willingly step aboard a pirate-ship who weren't pirates themselves. They _weren't_ pirates, were they?

"I don't recall making such an offer," Jack teased.

"Well, perhaps we'll stowaway," Elizabeth replied.

"No, perhaps I'll fight you for the privilege," Will rejoined. "A _fair_ fight, pirate."

"You're no fun sometimes, whelp," Jack answered simply. Then, his demeanor becoming almost too casual as he settled back even further in his chair, he argued, "Even 'civilized' people don't always fight by yer rules. I've heard tale there's a gentleman here in Port Royal, name of... Webster, methinks, Ben Webster, what killed a man in cold blood and put a weapon in the corpse's hand. Lad in me crew what ran away from his job in the service of a house nearby tol' me."

"Well, that's certainly not true," Elizabeth said. "The Websters were a bit stuffy for my taste, but there have been no deaths in that household that I've heard. Besdies, I don't think Benjamin Webster would ever kill anyone for _any_ reason, if he could help it."

"They _were_ stuffy?" Gwen asked. The adjective-"stuffy"-was at odds with what she'd been led to believe. Her aunt in England had assured her that this uncle and aunt were kind, personable people. But it was the past-tense verb that worried her now.

"Well, I suppose they still are," Elizabeth said, taking note that the girl had spoken up on this particular subject.

"They left Port Royal in a ship bound for England about a month ago," Will explained. "Some relative or other- a brother, I think- left quite a fortune behind. Seems the man didn't have any children, so his estate was to be inherited by his siblings."

Gwen was speechless for a long moment as realization and then humiliation passed over her. In a muddled flash, she remembered things her aunt had said to her which, in this new light, solved the mystery of why the Websters had left in an instant.

_'He'll be positively delighted to learn you're going to Port Royal, I assure you.'_

_'We've all been anxiously awaiting these days.'_

_'It's high time you got what's coming to you, what you deserve to have.'_

_'I'm just a greedy little woman... In a few months, you'd see fit to thrash me.'_

_'If there's anything I can't bear, it's to see you suffer.'_

So she'd sent Gwen off so that when the girl realized she really was alone in the world, she wouldn't disturb her dear aunt's peace of mind? What had she done to deserve such a double-cross, though? She'd never done anything to anyone.

_'You're just as lovely as your mother was, and twice as strange, I'm sure.'_

_'Your father didn't appreciate her in quite the same way we did, for what she really was.'_

_'...nothing like me or any other woman I have ever known. She knew things and felt things differently.'_

_'Your mother guarded you so closely, watching that you grew up just like her...'_

Just because she was too much like her mother?

Gwen rapidly pieced together the truth. Her relatives had disliked and perhaps even feared her mother, because of some real or imagined quality about her that made her different from them. For the same reason, they cared little for Gwen. All three were greedy, scheming, and vicious, and saw an opportunity to get rid of her and simultaneously turn a profit. In truth, Gwen _had_ inherited sixty-percent of her father's estate, mostly due to lack of other heirs. But now she was an entire ocean away from the source of that wealth and hadn't enough money with her to pay the costly fare for another crossing. It would surely be all too easy for them to convince the will-lawyer that she was lost at sea when she didn't return within a month or two. They could claim her inheritance as well as whatever was actually honestly left to them, and then never have to see her again. And all without the dirty work of having to kill her, which they were probably too squeamish to consider. And now, the crew of the _Graymere_ could, if necessary, when they returned to England, all attest to the fact that she truly had disappeared during a pirate attack. As far as her inheritance was concerned now, she was as good as dead, for she couldn't think of any possible way she could still claim it.

Gwen looked up to find all eyes on her. Captain Sparrow's expression was unreadable, but she knew he must be thinking about the ransom he could no longer claim from what he had assumed to be caring family members who would be desperate to have her back. She tried to fight down the shame at being tricked, for trusting the lies her devious aunt had fed her for months. Elizabeth and Will, not privy to any of this information yet, looked only concerned.

"The deceased Webster in England _did_ have a child," Gwen explained aloud reluctantly. "A daughter. Me."

Looks of mild shock and realization of the girl's dilemma crossed the couple's faces, and for a long moment no one spoke.

"Someone still owes me for your safe transport and freedom," Jack insisted at length, popping a biscuit into his mouth.

"Jack!" Elizabeth scolded.

"So it's Gwendolyn _Webster_, correct?" Will was asking.

Gwen affirmed this, and both Turners turned to Jack with reprimands on their lips.

"If I told ye she were a Webster and ye caught onto me questioning ye about Websters, ye'd make me give her back without getting me ransom," Jack defended, sounding very much like a petulant child.

"_Kidnapping_ now, Jack?" Elizabeth sounded exasperated.

"I _didn't_ kidnap her!" he insisted. He gestured wildly in Gwen's direction. "She-"

"I'm sorry, Captain, but I can't pay you," Gwen worried aloud.

Jack regarded her silently for a moment, ignoring Will's insistence that Gwen didn't owe the pirate anything. On an impulse, he drew out his compass and flipped it open. It was still pointing directly at Gwen. A new plan started to form in his mind.


	8. And a Bottle of Rum

_**Disclaimer:**__ Not mine, except for Gwen and few o' the crew, savvy?_

* * *

**Chapter 8: ...And a Bottle of Rum**

'_Captain Black Bill Jacobs was a pirate of average repute in life, not_

_particularly envied or dreaded, but in death his tale drew the_

_covetous attention of many a pirate. He had, by rumor, enjoyed the_

_most wildly successful voyage of his entire career, a crusade of_

_terror including the pillaging of eight seaside towns and twelve_

_merchant vessels, within a few months' space, nearly forty years ago._

'_According to the stories, he and his men had crossed paths with a_

_fellow pirate ship as they were heading toward Tortuga to spend their_

_profits. Both ships had eyed the other, and they had approached ready_

_to attack, but found themselves laughing when both captains raised_

_their 'Rogers at nearly the same time. The other captain, another _

_minor-scale pirate whose name got lost in the many re-tellings_

_of the tale and his men were the last to see the captain and crew _

_of the _Neptune's Lady_ before it was cursed, according to the _

_most popular versions of the tale._

'_Nearly a month after that chance meeting, Captain Jacobs was seen_

_briefly by a few in Tortuga, seemingly alone on the small ship _Neptune's Lady_._

_He bought himself a few drinks in a tavern, muttering audibly about a_

_"curse," which others presumed had already claimed his crew. A man_

_who knew him well had tried to detain him, and asked him of the sudden_

_poor turn of luck after his great success and of the whereabouts of_

_his crew and treasure. But the captain had said distractedly that his_

_treasures were to be hidden safely away, and insisted that he must_

_leave, because of the curse that had killed the crew. He had left,_

_alone, in his forsaken ship and had never been seen again; the unknown_

_curse had killed his crew at high sea and finally returned to claim_

_him._

'_His treasure, his hoard of five months' plunder, had never been found,_

_whether he had indeed managed to ferret it away somewhere or whether_

_it was lost to Davy Jones' Locker. And besides, it was assumed that_

_the source of the deadly curse lay somewhere in that treasure hoard,_

_waiting for a new victim.'_

_~The Demise of Bill Jacobs, a popular legend told and retold in pubs_

_as well as a favorite bedtime tale for adventure-loving children._

* * *

After an afternoon and evening spent in all manner of conversation and parlor-games with Jack and his wonderful friends, Gwen found that her mental impression of the "easygoing but hedonistic Captain Sparrow" had eased subtly to "personable scallywag Jack."

Will Turner she found pleasant enough, but truly spent more time with Elizabeth. After a restful night's sleep in the comfort of a borrowed bed (a welcome respite after several nights on a borrowed rug), Gwen spent most of the following day with Elizabeth while the two men occupied themselves otherwise.

Gwen found Elizabeth very much to her liking. The married woman was scarcely a year older than she and could relate to her. Gwen thoroughly enjoyed the pleasure of her company and felt that they were rapidly becoming close friends. Elizabeth was kind and compassionate, but possessed of a keen wit and also quite headstrong. She loved her husband and was fond of Jack but wasn't shy in pointing out the faults in either. Granted that Jack, not her beloved spouse, was the subject of the heaping majority of her criticisms. Then again, Jack also eagerly confessed most all of the vices and sins she diagnosed in him.

Elizabeth generously gave her a few simple dresses from her own wardrobe. Gwen was a bit scrawny compared to Elizabeth's lovely curves, but the two were of nearly the same height and the dresses fit well enough.

Jack had made arrangements to rendezvous with the _Black Pearl_ at dusk of the day after their arrival in Port Royal. The Turners packed a single large bag between them and Jack didn't argue. Gwen would be going with them, as a matter of her own choice, because she now had no one and nowhere to belong, and because it felt safer staying with known dangers and people rather than the unknown. The Turners didn't argue.

So dusk on the second day found the four of them rowing toward the black hulk waiting in the twilight at the edge of the bay. Once they were on board, the crew seemed pleased to see the Turners but confused by Gwen's presence. Jack explained only briefly that there had been a change of plans.

While the Turners were settled into a small room with a makeshift bed on the level just below deck, Jack gave orders for the ship to move out to open sea.

"Ah! There she is," Jack said to his first mate, sounding quite pleased. He stood at the helm, looking up at the sky.

Gibbs followed his gaze to the North Star. "Aye, Cap'n," he said amiably. "It's been a bit too cloudy of late to see her."

"A good luck omen, perhaps, Gibbs? She comes back to smile us into Tortuga."

"Tortuga," Gibbs repeated with a grin. His smile quickly turned to a look of reproof. "There'll be no good luck, mark my words, Cap'n, what with bringing that woman back on board, and another'n to boot."

"Elizabeth doesn't count, yeh see?" Jack said impishly, fluttering a hand dismissively. "She's married. One flesh and all with 'er husband, a man, right? And the other one," he flung his arms out in a shrug, "well, she's good luck."

"No such thing as a good luck woman," Gibbs said warningly to the retreating shadow that was the captain. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the ship and its course.

Gwen and Elizabeth had been visiting together in a large room, furnished most notably with a long, polished wooden table, at the stern of the ship, beside the captain's quarters. After hearing Gwen's unfortunate tale, including how she had ended up in Jack's custody, and discussing her future prospects briefly, Elizabeth had regaled her with a fascinating tale of a "Captain Barbossa" and how he had forced her to dine with him in the very room where they now sat. With a promise to tell her more of the _Black Pearl_ and her former captain and her current captain and the adventure she had had with them, Elizabeth finally took leave of Gwen rather late in the evening.

Elizabeth went straight below decks to dine with her husband. But Gwen wasn't sure what to do with herself. She was no longer a captive on board the _Black Pearl_, she was a guest. But then again, she had been treated rather like she had been a guest of the captain anyway. Finally, she went next door to the captain's cabin and knocked.

"I wondered where ye were, lass," Jack said when he opened the door.

"I-" Gwen said awkwardly as she allowed herself to be ushered inside for her meal.

Jack shut the door and leaned against it. "We need to talk. Ye still owe me, lass," he said with his trademark gilt grin. "Until you can buy your freedom, you still belong to me."

Gwen frowned. "Will said-" she began.

"That pup's not the captain, now, is 'e?"

"I don't have any-" she began to remind him, but he interrupted her.

"I've a plan," he said simply. But try as she might, she couldn't get him to share any more information about what this plan might be.

* * *

According to Captain Sparrow's orders, the _Black Pearl_ would remain docked in Tortuga for three days. On the fourth morning, they would depart on a venture after "a very particular treasure," as he told his crew. Three days gave the men time to get thoroughly plastered; sleep it off; restock the ship with food, supplies, and more drink; get thoroughly plastered again; sleep it off; and leave port.

Gwen chose to spend the first evening on the ship, along with Will, who had seen Tortuga and didn't care much for it, and Elizabeth, who didn't care much for the abundance of vile drink in the hedonistic town, as well as the four unfortunate men who drew the short straws and got pinned with patrolling the ship that night.

After telling her more still about the _Black Pearl_'s now-lifted curse and the insanity and genius of Captain Sparrow, the Turners bid Gwen good night long past dark. She assured them she would be fine, when they seemed confused that she didn't follow them below decks. She turned to peer with some interest up at the stars, until the Turners had disappeared below decks.

When they were gone, she dropped the facade and went to the captain's cabin. She didn't want to admit it aloud, but she was hoping to talk to Captain Sparrow this evening, as usual. Surely he would return soon. She wanted to get more information about what his plan was for her to pay him back... and she was starting to have a wild thought. She wondered if... he might let her pay it back with service to the ship.

Gwen waited for a quarter of an hour or so with no sign of Jack. A sudden crazy curiosity crossed her mind and she opened the desk drawer she'd seen him hide a bottle of rum inside just the evening before. Listening carefully to make sure she didn't hear the captain's boots approaching the door, she drew a big gulp of the amber liquid into her mouth and quickly replaced the bottle where she'd found it. She swallowed the rum and then gasped, her eyes bulging. She shuddered. But the shock of the alcohol quickly melted into the curious but pleasant buzz a couple of shots will easily bring to a flyweight. She felt good.

The rum attached itself straightaway to her wild idea of temporarily joining the _Black Pearl_'s crew. The rum convinced her it was a very good idea, indeed. These pirates were just misunderstood people. Just like herself. It made perfect sense, didn't it? The Turners seemed like very nice, respectable folks, and they liked the pirate captain. The Turners seemed to be even more evidence that this was actually a pretty fortunate place for Gwen to have found. Gwen was more convinced than ever that she could fit in here. The rum believed she could fit in, anyway. At least until she could come up with a different plan.

The rum was tired, though. She sat on the corner of the bed and hoped that the captain would come back soon, so she could talk to him about her proposition before the rum's courage wore off.

* * *

Jack pulled himself over the rail onto his ship and wobbled as he set his feet under him. He had taken a few steps toward his quarters when his sense of balance languidly informed him that he was listing much too far to his starboard. "Yo ho," he mumbled merrily to himself as he tried again to align himself in the proper standing posture, perpendicular to the deck. But he overcompensated and fell sideways.

"Yo ho," he sang softly, hoping it might set him on his feet again like a magic spell.

"Oy, Cap'n, up ye goes," came a voice from the dark, complete with a pair of arms. Another set of arms assisted the first and then he found himself standing between two of his crewman, who were soberly guarding his ship from unwelcome boarders.

"Yo ho," he told them cheerfully.

"Sounds like yeh've had more'n just a bit, Cap'n," the second man said as they walked him towards his cabin.

"Aye, that's the one!" he exulted. "Rummmmm!" he sang. "Drink up, me rum... Yo hearties..."

The two crewmen grinned at each other and stood the captain in front of his door. "Here ye are, Cap'n," the first said, patting him lightly on the shoulder.

"A bot'l o'... a bot'l of each o' yeh... rum," he thanked them, and let himself into his cabin.

He shut the door behind him and threw a sweeping glance into the shadows of the small room. There was a heap in his bed. What...? Oh, the girl.

"Really... BAD eggs," he murmured as he set his hat lovingly on his desk and pulled off his coat.

As he removed his belt and sword and pistol, he noticed a lump under the blankets on his bed. Ah yes, it was the Web... Weav... well, the lass. He sat down and with great difficulty managed to hunt down his feet to get his boots off. He tugged his shirt over his head and pulled off the sash wrapped round his waist.

As he stood waveringly, he caught a snake creeping over his shoulder. "Yo ho," he muttered as he examined it in the wane light. The snake turned into a harmless braid of hair at his magic words.

Jack, wearing naught but his trousers, hurried to climb under the covers of his warm bed. He sank into the soft blankets and snuggled against the soft curves. Bloody hell! There was a woman in his bed!

The woman groaned sleepily and rolled over, pillowing her head against his shoulder.

A man would never feel unwanted in Tortuga, that was the truth. Jack embraced his surprise bed-companion and let the alcohol and weariness waft him away to sleep.


	9. And We'll Sing It All the Time

_**Disclaimer:**__ If you recognize it from the movie, it doesn't belong to me. If you don't recognize it, it's likely mine. If you don't recognize anything at all, go see the movie and then read the first eight chapters here, yeh scabrous dog!_

* * *

**Chapter 9: ...'And We'll Sing It All the Time!'**

Jack opened his eyes and immediately closed them again. As expected, he had slept in by several long hours. The harsh light that assaulted his eyes belonged to a midday sun, far from the soft gray light he was accustomed to awaking to in earlier hours. Even after shutting out the abrasive light, his head still thrummed. He lay silently for several long moments, concentrating very hard on trying to concentrate on nothing. Finally, he decided he must force himself to get up and eat something and walk about a bit, try to help the alcohol's less pleasant after-shocks to wear off. He must have had quite a lot more to drink than usual for him to feel so terrible, though.

Step one, by his estimation, was to peel his eyes open and not balk at the too-brilliant light. He dragged his eyelids up slowly, then squinted and blinked rather a lot before finally focusing across his cabin.

It was only then that he became aware of a warm, light weight pressing down on his chest. Not because he hadn't noticed it there before, but because it hadn't occurred to him until now that it _shouldn't_ be there.

Uh-oh.

He turned his head to look down his own body. But his view of his toes was obstructed by a great mass of dark brown ringlets of hair. He recognized the features of Gwen's face, calm and peaceful in slumber, pillowed on his chest. Her right arm was slung diagonally across his body, her wrist crossing just below his left hip.

He hadn't. Had he? Would she have... Well, would he have given her a choice?

Within the next few seconds his concerns were both assuaged and rekindled. He realized as his senses awoke more fully, that, blessedly, he still wore his trousers, and that Gwen was still fully clothed. But then he also realized that an intermittent soft stream of air, when she exhaled, was lightly grazing across right nipple. And he could just feel the curve of her breasts against his side.

Bloody... He couldn't let himself get worked up over an innocent. By rites and necessity, she belonged to a purer class of people. One where affairs and dealings with whores were frowned upon and discussed in whispers, and wedding vows (or at least affection) were prerequisites for little romps and bonbons in the bedroom. He frowned, remembering how Elizabeth had abruptly chastised him once, on that blasted island, for his not-so-subtle suggestions on how to pass the time.

Suddenly remembering that he'd been too enamored of his mug last night to get one of the tavern wenches off his lap and into a bed, he made a mental note to do so later. It was no good for a man to knock about without enjoying a woman's... company from time to time. It made him want things when he wasn't allowed to get them, like now.

He began to move to slip out from beneath the covers, but his pounding skull reminded him he still didn't feel quite up to jumping out of bed, effectively quashing the good mood other parts of his body had started to feel. He grimaced and silently asked the fates, not why he had drunk so much, but why it had to cost him so much. Moving much more slowly and deliberately, he gently pushed Gwen off of him and tried to sit up.

His grimace deepened to a disgruntled scowl when he noticed that his movement had awakened her.

Gwen awoke and found herself staring directly at the unclothed, lightly furred torso of a man. Jack. Then she immediately became aware of how closely her body was pressed against his. She tried to move away, pushing herself up with a hand planted midway between his navel and the bottom of his ribcage.

"Oof!" Jack said eloquently, one hand catching at Gwen's offending arm, the other reaching to his head. "Good morning to you too, luv," he grumbled. This was the last thing he needed. A confused woman, in his bed with him unwillingly. An odd situation in itself. And he'd probably get slapped. He groaned in dread anticipation of it.

"What are you...?" Gwen didn't finish her question. Jack's facial expressions were ranging from frowning to wincing to grimacing and all other such contortions of displeasure. And he smelled strongly of what she identified to be the scent of rum. "Were you _that_ drunk when you came back last night?" she asked, her eyes narrowed analytically.

Jack frowned at her. He wasn't sure whether he'd rather be treated like an errant adolescent or slapped. "It was dark," he said grumpily. "What are ye doing here?"

She didn't answer immediately, slightly embarrassed at her situation.

Jack wasn't much interested in knowing why she was there, though. He just knew he needed to get space between himself and her- and quick! "Get off me, luv," Jack requested rather bluntly, pushing her to the side.

He pulled himself to a sitting position and dropped to his feet on the floor as she shifted to the side. He groaned again as his body fought his every action, and grabbed his shirt from where it had caught on the corner of his desk. Slowly, grumbling and mumbling, he gathered up his clothing and reassembled himself. When he turned back, he found Gwen studiously staring at the wall beside the bed. He grinned slightly at the thought of a woman who was embarrassed by a man without a shirt, also remembering his need to find a woman who _wasn't_ bashful, then left his cabin, rubbing his forehead through his bandana with two fingers and thumb.

Gwen slipped off the bed as soon as the door shut. Once he was gone, she felt much safer and she paused to consider things.

Gwen sighed. She supposed there wasn't really any harm done. No sense in causing a scene. He wouldn't care anyway. She sighed and glanced around the room. The sun streaming in from the small window was far too bright and far too warm to be very early in the morning at all. She must have been much more tired than she'd thought; she'd slept in.

_They_ had slept in. She lingered for a moment on the thought of "they," the word eliciting considerations of her future prospects. Perhaps Elizabeth would be willing to help her somehow to find a place in society. She could only hope to meet a man willing to marry her; if not, she could possibly find herself working as a governess or some other such old-maid job to support herself.

With a silent complaint on her limits as a woman, Gwen straightened the bed-covers, twitching the blankets out with a few jerks and smoothing them flat again. She looked once more around the room in feminine solicitousness to make sure it was in order before she left. Ah. The captain had left his hat.

The door swung open. Jack strode in and snatched his dingy old tricorne from his desk. "Forgot me hat," he said simply as he settled it on his head, sounding already much less like the disgruntled grump and more like the carefree scoundrel she was used to, though he still frowned deeply.

Gwen checked her reproof on his lack of knocking before it could fall from her lips. It _was_ his cabin, after all. Why knock at your own door?

The door clicked shut behind him. She crossed to it, opened it again, and left the cabin herself, in search of Elizabeth and some breakfast. Well, lunch.

* * *

The fourth morning in Tortuga dawned bright and clear. For some. For many of the _Pearl_'s crew, those who had made the last night their heaviest night of drinking rather than their lightest, it didn't quite dawn at all, but came bursting in on their dreams, unwelcome, when Smithy came hollering through all of the crew quarters trying to roust enough warm bodies to get the ship out to sea.

For Jack, the morning came with a tickle of long brown curls and a soft voice as Gwen knelt over him.

"Captain... Captain."

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, then couldn't quite help the devilish grin that spread when the first thing he saw was a rather nice view of her cleavage. "Well, good morning, luv," he drawled as he raked his gaze up to meet her eyes.

"You black sheep," she scolded, raising one hand to her chest to block his view.

"Take what ye can," he mumbled at her as she stood. If a glimpse was offered, he would most certainly take it.

Ignoring his vague comment, she stood and went to the door, which was slightly cracked, since she'd just stepped inside for a moment, just to wake him.

"The _Black Pearl_ is nearly ready to make way, Captain," she informed him simply before she left.

He lay silent and still for a moment after she left, considering the dull familiar thrum of a headache and allowing himself to take pleasure in her choice of words- "_Black Pearl_," not "the ship," and "Captain."

Then, in a low voice, he sang to himself, "Devils and black sheep... we're really bad eggs."

He reached up with one hand to grab the edge of his desk and pulled himself to his feet. He slid his vest up his arms and tugged it down to straighten it over his shirt.

"Drink up me 'earties, yo ho." His rich baritone lifted the strain a little louder than before as he belted his sash in place and jammed his sword and pistol into the belt. He clapped his hat on his still-aching head a bit harder than he had intended, but his golden grin didn't waver as he flung his door open and stepped out onto the deck of his ship.

"_'Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me!'_ Hoist the mainsail! Weigh anchor! Get the rest of that cargo stored, ye scurvy villains!"

Jack exchanged curt nods with Gibbs as he climbed the steps toward the helm. "Tie off those lines! Man the crow's nest!" he yelled up to a couple of men climbing through the rigging.

"We pillage, plunder, we rifle and loot," he sang loudly as he threw the holding line off the wheel and savored the familiar feel of the smooth wood. "Drink up me 'earties, yo ho. We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot. Drink up me 'earties, yo ho!"

Many of the straggling crew, forcing their protesting bodies to carry out their ordered tasks, smiled at the captain's song, all the same grin which told tales of sea and salt and not giving a damn. A few joined in on the next stanza, a couple of tenors and a small fellow with an unlikely bass which rumbled from his chest.

_Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me._

_We extort and pilfer, we filch and sack._

_Drink up me 'earties, yo ho._

_Maraud and embezzle and even highjack._

_Drink up me 'earties, yo ho._

The ship began to move out of harbor, and sailors on the decks of a few other docked pirate ships looked up and exchanged knowing grins with each other. They waved at the eccentric Captain Jack Sparrow and his crew as the infamous _Black Pearl_ bore the singing madmen out away from Tortuga.

_Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me._

_We kindle and char and inflame and ignite._

_Drink up me 'earties, yo ho._

_We burn up the city, we're really a fright._

_Drink up me 'earties, yo ho._

Gwen felt lost in another world as she stood on the deck, watching the bustle as crewmen stomped across the deck in time with the sauntering rhythm, listening as they sang their song of praise to their own villainy and lawlessness. Elizabeth and Will were both singing along, as well. Will, who had climbed up into the rigging with some of the pirates, was helping to unfurl all of the _Pearl_'s ebony sails. And Elizabeth was allowing a pirate to spin her around in circles in a made-up dance.

She tried not to give in to the rascals' fervor, but Gwen couldn't help the sensation of absolute, uninhibited freedom that swept over her as the _Black Pearl_ left the bay and sailed out toward the horizon with its crew of jolly miscreants.

_We're rascals and scoundrels, we're villains and knaves._

_Drink up me 'earties, yo ho._

_We're devils and black sheep and REALLY BAD EGGS!_

_Drink up me 'earties, yo ho._

_Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me._

*~~~ **"I **_**love**_** this song! When I get me ship back, I'll teach it to the crew... an' we'll sing it all the time!"** ~~~*


	10. I've Got Plenty of Hands

_**Disclaimer:**__ Yada yada yada belongs to others, yada yada yada no profit made here._

* * *

**Chapter 10: I've Got Plenty of Hands**

The crew had finished their second rendition of the pirate song and then fallen into raucous conversation and ringing laughter. Still, Gwen found herself softly humming the tune- it was really quite catchy!- as she looked out toward the distant line where sea met sky. The sails above were filled with a steady wind already, and they were on their way.

She raised a hand to brush straying hair out of her face and turned to watch a couple of pirates heading below deck with the last of the barrels of supplies. Gwen had been led to believe, by the sober crewmen of the _Graymere_, most notably, that pirates were a bunch of dejected outcasts, starving to death on small boats, scrounging a life by stealing whatever they could and promptly frittering that away in taverns and brothels. The _Black Pearl_ had certainly been the largest ship in Tortuga's shady docks, and it may hold true that she was the exception to the rule in other ways as well. But still, as far as Gwen could tell, while these pirates were every whit as selfish and lovers of the bottle as they were "supposed" to be, they were hardly dejected. And if they were outcasts, society had forgotten to tell them they were unwanted. And if any of them were starving to death, it was because he simply wasn't eating the food that was provided. The stores had just been replenished with fresh food items. She'd watched them load much of the stuff herself.

"Gwendolyn!" A hand gripped her shoulder, and she turned with it to face its owner. "I've been calling ye but ye didn't answer," Jack said.

She didn't think she'd heard him say her name at all before, except to introduce her to the Turners. Not that she could recall, anyway. He tended to just speak in her general direction, and she normally answered.

"I was just... thinking," she answered truthfully, "and lost myself. And I'm not particularly accustomed to hearing 'Gwendolyn.'" She caught a long brown curl as the wind swept it into her face and tucked it behind her ear.

"So it's 'Miss Webster,' then?" Jack asked, snidely affecting a nasal accent which he apparently thought sounded very much like a refined English gentleman.

"Well, I was going to say that I'm used to hearing it shortened to 'Gwen,' which is what I've been called for years."

"Ah," Jack said, the fact not lost on him that she seemed to be a bit less stringent, about titles and certain issues of propriety, than Elizabeth, the only other "lady" he really knew, had been just a couple of years ago. The lass hadn't mentioned a word about the one mistaken night she had fallen asleep on his bed a few days previously. He hadn't asked, and she hadn't said a word either.

"Well." Jack propelled her forward with a gentle hand at her back. "If you would be so kind, Miss Gwen," he said, still affecting his comical "genteel" accent. He steered her up the steps toward the helm. She went willingly, curious as to what he wanted of her.

"Now," he said seriously, stopping her before the wheel, "about the treasure."

"The... treasure?" she repeated. "I really don't know what you're-"

"Shh!" He glanced around to make sure no one was listening to their conversation too closely. He was still a bit paranoid about letting his crew know too much about his plans. He wasn't entirely sure where this adventure would lead, but he was hoping that his compass and its recent behavioral changes had something to do with a legendary treasure he'd been trying to track down in the past year. "What else do you know about Bill Jacobs?"

"I... may have heard a tale from my mother once, a very long time ago," Gwen said slowly, unable to follow what Jack was thinking. "She mentioned pirates a time or two when I was quite young. Just another adventure tale."

"Hmm," Jack said and frowned at her. He was familiar enough with the tale of Jacobs and his cursed treasure. But by the same token that he knew it well, she shouldn't know of it at all. Truth be told, Jacobs had been a small-scale pirate. He hadn't been terrible or successful enough for law-abiding sailors to think any more of his banner than it being just another black flag flying over a nameless vessel. Jack didn't think it was mere coincidence that the only pirate story this lass knew was an aggrandized version of a legend he'd never heard outside Tortuga.

But now was no time to interrogate her further about such things, he supposed. At least not here, where anyone might suddenly appear and overhear them. He drew out his compass and held it out toward Gwen.

She hesitated, pushing her blowing hair out of her eyes. Did he expect her to set the ship's course? She knew nothing about navigation or steering ships, let alone where exactly it was they were supposed to be going now.

"Your hand, lass," Jack finally said impatiently.

Obediently, Gwen held out her hand, palm up. He flipped open his compass and set it in her hand. She was surprised to see its tiny arrow pointed at her still before it swung about, at her touch, to its other favorite direction. She'd forgotten about the compass. And she had thought it was all a joke of some sort, anyway.

"Oh," she said, dumbstruck.

The captain's hand closed around her wrist, and he pulled her hand up so he could see the compass clearly. As he turned the wheel, altering the ship's course to match the compass, Gwen abandoned her facade completely and spoke up.

"How do you know what the compass is pointing at?" she asked.

"There's no way to know at all, luv," he said impishly but honestly. "But it's yer touch the poor thing wants, luv, so treat it nice," he said, releasing her hand and taking back his poor lonely compass.

She pushed hair out of her face again and frowned at his teasing. "You _are_ a rascal," she said irritably, begin to get annoyed at the wind and his constant badgering both.

"I can fix that for ye," Jack said.

"And become a respectable man?" She had gathered her hair in one hand and was holding it at the back of her neck.

"Never. But I can get yer hair out of yer face."

She cast a dubious look at him. "No, thank you."

"Don't you trust me?" he asked, with a lilt which he seemed to think made him sound childishly innocent.

"No," she answered. "You're a scoundrel, a rascal, a villain, and a knave, and I don't trust you at all. Especially," she went on, pointedly eyeing his dreadlocks, "not with my hair."

His smile faltered noticeably at her teasing attack on his hair, though he chose to pretend he hadn't heard it.

"Ye forgot 'devil,' 'black sheep,' and a 'really bad egg,'" he said with a wink.

"Those as well, and countless other forms of dishonest men," she conceded, frowning as a breath of wind pulled another curl loose and into her eyes.

"If I'm all those at once, then I've got plenty of hands to plait yer hair for ye."

"Then why not use all of those hands to smooth your own mane?"

"Ladies first, dear lass," he said in an overly honeyed tone. He gestured broadly toward his cabin.

Her stock of bantering arguments being exhausted, Gwen shrugged carelessly as she made her decision and went, leading the way to his door. Truthfully, she _was_ quite annoyed by the wind blowing her hair about and didn't particularly mind letting a man help her, odd though it was. She never could tame it herself, having been always reliant on maids to assist her.

Once inside his cabin, Jack pulled his desk chair across his rug to the center of the room. "Fair miss," he said, jabbing a finger down at the seat of the chair, the brusque motion and his jesting tone at odds with each other.

While she obediently took her seat, Jack cut a piece of twine from a ball of it that seemed to have appeared from thin air, with a knife of equally vaporous origins. Gwen allowed herself to relax, feeling safe behind the closed door, as the pirate drew his fingers through her tangled locks, smoothing it and beginning to braid it with a familiarity and ease born of a sailor's life braiding and knotting ropes. The gentle tugs and the feathery touch of his fingers reminded her, absurdly, of her mother...

* * *

_"Mother?"_

_"Yes, dear?" Her mother drew the comb through Gwen's dark curls one last time. Setting the comb aside, she patted the top of her daughter's head._

_Gwen climbed up into her mother's lap. "Will we always live here? You and me and Father in this house?"_

_"I don't know. Perhaps so. But one day you will probably get married and go to live with your husband."_

_"Have _you_ always lived here, Mother, before you had me?"_

_"Of course not, child."_

_"But where did you live, then?"_

_"Well, I was born far across the ocean on an island in the Caribbean Sea."_

_"Were you really?" Little Gwen sounded awestruck._

_Her mother nodded and continued. "Then, _my_ mother alone brought me when I was a year old to England to raise me."_

_"What happened then?"_

_"I grew up, of course."_

_"What happened to Grandmother, though? Where is she now? Father told me not to ask, though," she admitted more quietly._

_"She passed away some years ago. I was very lucky to meet your father very soon after that, and very lucky that he married me."_

_"I'm going to live in the Caribbean too, Mother, and have a daughter," Gwen said excitedly, hopping down from her lap._

_Her mother fixed her with a very stern look, which then eased to one of mild shock. "I don't think you mean that, dear. There are pirates and such down there. And it's not a place for ladies."_

_"But my grandmother lived there," Gwen argued. After a moment, she changed subjects slightly, after the fashion that small children have of doing such. "Did she ever know any pirates?"_

_"She told me about a few," she said with an indulgent smile. "There was one named One-Eyed Jones." Her mother covered one of her eyes with her hand. "And Black Bill Jacobs, who hid all his treasure and was lost to sea. And Mad Kyle Keasling who drew his sword at anything that moved," she said with a playful snarling accent. She drew her daughter to her and held her tight, tickling her._

_"No!" Gwen shrieked through peals of laughter. "Mother!"_

* * *

Jack stepped back to admire his work. He found himself admiring Nature's work instead... the curve of Gwen's neck, the burgeoning confidence expressed in the smooth lines of her shoulders, the fair skin, the view of her breasts he could see from his vantage point standing over her...

Jack frowned and cleared his throat more for his own good than anything else, resetting his mind and veering away from those thoughts. Gwen jumped slightly. She'd been lost in thought, he knew. He focused his mind on his task again. Something was missing...

Cutting a two-foot strip with his knife from the long sash at his waist, he tied it around Gwen's head. "There ye are," he said triumphantly.

"What have you done to me?" Gwen asked quietly, waiting as he fished about for a reflective surface, trying to ignore the broad grin on his face. When he handed her an ornate hand-mirror, cracked at one edge, obviously stolen from some lady somewhere, she peered into it with a mixture of dismay and fascination.

"I look like a pirate," she observed flatly. Jack had taken advantage of her absent-mindedness. Her hair was braided into twelve or fourteen different thick plaits. With the bit of sash he'd tied over her forehead to keep the foremost plaits from her eyes, she looked every bit as exotic as many of the pirates that traipsed around the Black Pearl with strange hairstyles.

"Sexiest pirate I've ever seen," Jack said, ignoring the flustered look she gave him.


	11. Elizabeth, and a Sailor's Delight

_**Disclaimer:**__ Woe is me, no profit for me, yay is the people who really own the people and things I borrow._

_A/N: In this chapter (and in later chapters, too, perhaps) I will take the liberty of including as completely canon some of the deleted scenes. So if something sounds quite unfamiliar, and you haven't surfed through the deleted scenes, go get yourself a Pirates DVD and do so. (You see, Mousey, I'm even advertising for your products here. And still making no profit with this tale.)_

_Mini-Speech on Norrington, if you care to read: Anyway, the particular tidbit I mention here concerns a scene in which Norrington's character is softened a bit (which was left out for whatever reason). Personally, I'm not one of these overly prejudiced people who sees him completely as a villain, anymore than Jack is completely a hero. Norrington is not a static character, he changes a bit over the course of the film, even if __**just **__noticeably. He actually released Elizabeth from their betrothal without a fuss, let Will off for helping Jack escape, and basically let Jack go then. Tell me, is that really such a bad guy? I think they should have left the aforementioned scene in because for some people, the evidence at the end of the movie is not enough to prove to them that he isn't a loathsome caricature, and is, in fact, a three-dimensional character._

* * *

**Chapter 11: Elizabeth, and a Sailor's Delight**

"So, how long until your baby is born?" Gwen asked. Honestly, she was curious. But mostly, she wanted to wanted to detract Elizabeth's attention away from her plaited hair. She actually rather liked it, and the odd hairstyle _did_ defeat the wind. She just didn't want to talk about the fact that she'd let Jack do it. Elizabeth had been on deck when she'd left the captain's cabin a few minutes ago. No doubt she'd seen Gwen go into his quarters half an hour earlier as well.

Elizabeth reflexively laid a hand flat against her stomach, falling for Gwen's purposeful sidetracking. "Around the first of the year," she answered.

"You must be thrilled."

The other woman smiled candidly. "Will and I were beginning to fear we would never have children. I think my father was too. We've been married two years already."

"So you married soon after your adventure. With the curse and Jack and the _Black Pearl_, I mean. You said that was only two and half years ago."

"Yes," Elizabeth affirmed.

The two women stopped in their walk around the deck to watch a pod of shipfish speeding through the water, keeping pace alongside the _Pearl_.

"The first time Will ever told me he loved me was on the day of Jack's execution," Elizabeth explained.

"His execution?" Gwen repeated. Now that she thought of it, she recalled that some of the crew, in her brief conversations with them, had alluded to Captain Sparrow and the gallows. "This tale I haven't heard."

"Well," Elizabeth began, watching as a dolphin jumped out of the water and dove in again with a splash. "The _Black Pearl_ and her new crew- most of them are still here, a few new faces, though- well, they left Jack as soon as they had the ship back from Barbossa's men. Left him directly in the custody of Commodore Norrington, really, the bloody pirates.

"But Jack said they had done what was 'right by them' and sort of... forgave them, in a way. Excused them, at least." Elizabeth frowned and her face took on an introspective expression. "I think Captain Barbossa's death changed him a bit more than he would be willing to admit."

"How so?" Gwen asked. She knew, from Elizabeth's and Will's earlier story-telling, that Barbossa had aimed his pistol at Elizabeth, and that Jack had shot him before he could shoot her.

"Well. That's another story, I suppose," Elizabeth said. "Perhaps he would talk to you about it. It isn't discussed anymore with anyone else."

Gwen tried to gather an argument to properly deny that any confiding sort of friendship or intimacy exited between herself and the pirate captain, but she knew how suspicious it must look to Elizabeth. There was no denying she had only just left his company, whether or not she could pretend she had braided her hair herself. And they were always bantering back and forth. That was obvious to anyone. Gwen wondered briefly whether Jack enjoyed time in her company as much she was secretly beginning to enjoy his presence. She also wondered if Elizabeth knew about the night she had accidentally spent in the captain's quarters as well. Quite possibly. She had been spotted by one crewman as she sneaked out, and there's no telling what the man had told his shipmates.

"Do go on," Gwen said after a moment, neither confirming or refuting the other woman's subtly-raised suspicions.

"Well," Elizabeth said, breaking her searching stare, "when we were back aboard the _Dauntless_, Jack's only complaint was that Norrington didn't let him keep the bit of treasure he took away from the cave with him. He had a crown on his head, a few gold chains, that sort of thing."

"I can imagine," Gwen said drily, actually picturing Jack with a golden crown and golden smile.

"As soon as we arrived back in Port Royal, his execution was set for the very next day. It was there that Will told me he had always loved me."

Gwen smiled at Elizabeth's remembrance of romantic felicity.

"It was either because he felt he had to say it in case he was executed himself for what he was about to do and wouldn't get a chance, or because he had found the courage to carry out his plan and had a bit left to spare for me and his confession. But he said that he loved me, right there, before my father and Commodore Norrington- I was engaged to him then, you know-"

"No, I didn't know. You hadn't mentioned."

"That was how I persuaded him to go back to save Will from Barbossa, by accepting his proposal right after he rescued Jack and me from that island. Not a bad man really, he talked to me later that night to make sure I had agreed to marry him unconditionally. He wanted to know that I would have agreed to marry him anyway, even if he had refused to go back for Will, before he could allow himself any satisfaction in our betrothal. Of course, I assured him I would have. It actually pained me to lie to him.

"But back to the execution. Right after Will made his confession, I noticed Mr. Cotton's parrot- you've met Mr. Cotton- and I realized the _Black Pearl_ and her crew had decided to come back for Captain Sparrow. Will never did tell me whether or not he knew they were there in the bay before then.

"When he started pushing through the crowd toward the gallows, I pretended to swoon at his words. Those and that stupid corset as well. I still don't like the things."

Gwen nodded appreciatively. "I would like to see a man wear one and not feel faint from lack of air."

Elizabeth smiled, apparently as happy as Gwen was to have a female friend to share such opinions with. "Yes. Well, it worked, and the Commodore was distracted long enough with trying to recover me for Will to make his move.

"Then the drum-roll suddenly stopped, and I sat up to watch just as the gallows dropped."

"Well, he didn't hang," Gwen said almost impatiently after a moment. She had allowed Elizabeth's story-telling to work its trick with her, and for a moment she had been horrified at the captain's terrible luck. Until she realized in the next second that the man was, of course, perfectly alive this day.

"He very nearly did. Will threw a sword at the last moment, which stuck in the trapdoor just as it dropped. Jack managed to balance himself, somehow, suspended between that sword and the rope pulled taut around his neck until the noose was cut and he could jump free.

"Long and short, at the end of the day, Will had been excused again for throwing in his lot with a pirate, my engagement with Norrington was broken, Father had grudgingly acknowledged Will as my chosen suitor, and Jack had his _Pearl_ back.

"It wasn't a bit funny at the time, of course, but it's actually rather amusing to think back on. You should have seen Jack. As mad as any fool sometimes. About to be hanged and he was just enjoying the list of his crimes being read aloud."

"Which were?" Gwen prompted.

"Well, let's see..." Elizabeth said. Her eyes grew distant as she tried to recall specifics. "Piracy, of course. Smuggling. Impersonating a member of the Royal Navy, impersonating a cleric of the Church of England."

Gwen lifted an eyebrow.

"Arson. Kidnapping."

"And he would have me believe he's not a kidnaper."

"He didn't kidnap you?"

"Not... exactly."

Elizabeth gave her a puzzled look, but let it pass. "I'm not sure he really is. He just takes advantages that are offered to him. The day I met him, after he saved me from drowning- you remember me telling you that much? Well, the commodore tricked him into shaking his hand in congratulations and thanks. Of course, then he found the pirate brand Jack bears on his wrist and arrested him on account of his past crimes. As they put him in irons, I was trying to plead for his sake, for saving me. I was standing just a bit too close to him, and he took the opportunity. Jack took me hostage, kidnapped me, essentially, for a few moments to help him escape. Since his hands were occupied with holding me captive and holding one of the soldiers' guns to my head, he made me put his belt and weapons back on for him. And his hat."

"Really," Gwen said incredulously.

"I told him he was despicable," Elizabeth said, clearly feeling like this made them even. "Let's see, what else? Looting. Poaching. Pilfering. Sailing under false colors."

"I've seen his collection of 'false colors,'" Gwen said, thinking of the stack of neatly folded flags on the shelf in his cabin even now.

Elizabeth gave her a mildly amused but appraising look at Gwen's indirect admission to spending plenty of time in the captain's private domain. Gwen frowned. By her estimation, it was only a matter of time before Elizabeth would have her telling everything there was to know about herself and the captain. Which wasn't much, at least, she told herself.

"What are you ladies discussing so seriously here?"

Elizabeth smiled at her husband. "I was just telling Gwen about Jack's execution. Do you remember that?"

Will grinned. "How could I forget?" he said, focusing on something over Gwen's shoulder. "I've regretted that day ever since."

Gwen turned to find that Jack had joined them as well, which was the reason for Will's less-than-truthful, baiting comment.

"Regretted that you took Elizabeth away from her only love?" Jack asked with an assumed remorseful air and a heartbroken sigh.

"I forgot depravity," Elizabeth said to Gwen, "in his list of crimes."

"You wound me," Jack said. Then he turned more serious and gestured pan-optically at the clouds brooding in the distant sky on the opposite side of the ship. "I thought I'd warn ye in case ye hadn't noticed. Storm's brewing. Likely it'll be right on top of us by afternoon."

Elizabeth and Will both frowned deeply. They'd both been through the fury of Caribbean storms at sea and weren't particularly eager to repeat the experiences. Gwen had had the surprising good fortune to have met only relatively calm seas while aboard the _Graymere_, which was her only other aquatic experience, and preferred not to alter that record of easy sailing.

"I'd really rather it didn't," Gwen said.

Jack laughed. "Then _you_ can tell it it's not welcome. I've seen men chuck a bottle or two as a peace-offering to 'em. Waste of good rum. I doubt that a sea-squall would listen to a little squaw when even rum can't sway its mind."

Gwen wasn't familiar with the term "squaw" but smiled up at Jack anyway. "Well, perhaps it _will_ listen to _me_."

* * *

Gwen hadn't seen Jack since mid-morning that day. She had eaten lunch with the crew and then lingered in the galley learning to play some non-wagering card games from Will and a few of the pirates while Elizabeth took an afternoon nap, as she had recently acquired a habit of doing. Gwen didn't realize how many long hours they'd all been sitting there playing until she noticed the galley's population picking up again in anticipation of another meal. When the cook came out, heading above decks with the captain's meal, she stood and stretched her stiff muscles and took leave of her companions to join the captain for dinner, as she was accustomed to doing.

She'd spent the last few days pondering her proposal for the captain, and she had come to a conclusion this afternoon that she would attempt to raise the subject again. She wanted to become at least a temporary part of the crew.

She crossed paths with the cook on his way back down to serve the crew, and he winked at her as she approached the captain's door. Frowning slightly at the man's suggestive gesture, she opened the door to the captain's cabin, not bothering to knock. Was _everyone_ on this ship starting to suspect something was, in fact, going on between herself and the captain?

"'Evening, luv," Jack said without turning as she entered and shut the door. He was bent over his table, where he had spread a chart out. He was eating while standing over it, studying.

Her previous thoughts forgotten, Gwen recalled the last words she had exchanged with him and couldn't help bringing them up again. "Did you notice the lovely weather we had today?"

He turned to find her standing just behind him, a smug smile on her face, her new braids swinging alluringly. "As a matter of fact, I did notice," he said blandly. The waves had been a little choppy, and still were, but the storm had seemed to veer off and circle around them. It was almost eerie.

Feeling her point (that he had been wrong about the weather) was well made without having to speak another word, Gwen helped herself to a chicken leg and sipped from a mug of water. She glanced at the other mug, the one with Jack's rum in it. He wasn't looking. She quickly snatched it and gulped half the bracing liquid, this time ready for the sense of freedom and relaxation it would provide her.

"Red skies at night, sailor's delight," Jack said after a moment.

"Hmm?" Her mind already felt hazy and pleasant and different, like it had the last time she had stolen rum from him. She was now working on her words to tell him she was wanted to stay on board for a while.

Jack gestured toward the view out his small window, where the sky was crimson with sunset. "Fair weather tomorrow as well," he observed.

Gwen didn't say anything.

"I told Gibbs ye were a good luck woman," Jack said at length. "I think I may be starting to believe it meself now."

Gwen smiled, allowing herself to accept his words without comment. It was a sort of compliment from him, to admit that a woman might be worthwhile on her own account, and she took it as such. She put down her chicken bone and moved to stand beside him. She was about to ask him a question about the chart on the table when the ship, which had been riding relatively high swells most of the day, dodged beneath her rum-affected feet as the _Pearl_ plunged into a particularly high crest. Jack, perfectly steady in his years of seamanship and drunkenness, caught her as she stumbled.

He righted her, and she started to thank him. But then she realized he had not let her go yet. When she glanced up at him questioningly, her own intense brown eyes locked with his even darker eyes. She wasn't sure whether he moved first or if she had.

Suddenly his lips were pressing against hers, his mustache and beard itchy but strangely pleasant against her skin, his beard braids tickling her throat when she angled her head back to meet the taller man.

Jack's arms slid from her upper arms, where he had caught her, to meet at the small of her back, and Gwen didn't struggle as he pulled her against him within his embrace. She was uncertain of her actions, but her body was suddenly tingling with an odd excitement that perfectly matched the thrill of the rum coursing into her system. She wrapped her own arms uncertainly around his waist, and when she felt his tongue run along her closed lips, she parted them.

Gwen involuntarily moaned, a soft, throaty sound, as his tongue invaded her mouth.

Jack plunged deep into her mouth, searching her, learning her with his tongue. He rimmed the sharp points of her canines and explored the ribbed edges of the roof of her mouth. He was unprepared, however, when she began to war against him with her own tongue. Slowly, he drew his lips away from her and opened his eyes to look at her. Her eyes fluttered open and she was staring up at him as well.

Without a word, Jack hugged her body even tighter against his, feeling where her hips pressed against him, and the hardened nubs that were her nipples just a few inches below his own. He covered her mouth with his again in the same instant, his every attempt at invasion met until finally Gwen's tongue was the one exploring his mouth.

He was beginning to lose control, something he never forfeited to his partners, and he couldn't bear her touch as his arousal began to grow noticeably. If he didn't stop, and soon, she would soon find herself flat on her back on his bed. On the table, more likely. He forced himself, however unwillingly, to turn loose of her.

Gwen was surprised when Jack's hips bucked away from hers and he broke their kiss. Her eyebrows furrowed in concern, desperately wondering what she had done wrong.

Jack was cursing inwardly because she had gotten everything too right. Damn the tavern-wench he'd had just the other night, damn that girl for now seeming so pathetic compared to the excitement Gwen provoked from his body, and damn himself for stealing what had obviously been Gwen's first kiss.


	12. Gwen and Jack

_**Disclaimer:**__ Me no own Jack. *sigh* Or anything much, really. Just a character or two, and the ideas... Also, there be a quote stolen from Star Wars, which be George Lucas'. (The original trilogy, thus the *real* Star Wars.) Cookies for people who know the quote when they see it._

* * *

**Chapter 12: Gwen and Jack**

Jack stood uneasily a step back from her, trying to dampen his body's responses to her, hoping the lass didn't let her eyes wander below his belt. He glanced at her to find that she was staring up at him, chewing thoughtfully on her lower lip, a hurt expression on her face. She was completely unaware of what her body, her tongue and lips alone, really, had done to him. He tried to smile reassuringly at her, lest she think she had offended him somehow.

After a long few seconds of stiff silence- more stiff for one of them than the other- Jack felt he had regained a fair enough semblance of control over his intense desire to... well, lash her to his desk, rip her dress to shreds, and have his filthy way with her.

He drew Gwen close enough to kiss her once more, a chaste, closed-mouth peck on the lips to soothe her anxious expression. Her countenance eased into a smile, and the tense moment of uncertainty passed.

The silence that followed then was of the comfortable sort that follows after a great moment, like a peaceful night's rest after a milestone day. For Gwen anyway. She turned, content and pacified, to peer with some curiosity down at the chart still spread out on the table.

Jack was at least in control of himself once again, but that didn't give him any relief from the lusty ache thrumming through his lower regions. Scowling, he grabbed the nearest half-empty mug from the desk and swallowed a mouthful of the water. He looked rather distastefully into the tankard, frowning at the clear liquid.

Water? His eyes flicked to Gwen, who seemed to be absorbed with the map. He flicked his gaze back to the water in his mug. He looked into the other mug. Aha! There was the rum... half-drained. Hmm. He narrowed his eyes at Gwen's back. Had she really...? His libido thrummed happily at the idea that this young lady was already warped enough to be swilling rum. There may be hope, after all... But no, it wasn't wise. The water could help, at least, he thought...

Looking up at her again to make sure she wasn't paying any attention to him and that she wasn't about to turn around, he lowered the water mug to hip- level. No. That wouldn't look quite right. He lifted the mug to the wide 'V' his shirt left open at his chest. Leaning back slightly to give the water a surface to fall onto, he upended the mug.

The water slid quickly down his body, over his chest and abs and down lower, soaking a trail through his thin shirt, partially through his vest and sash, and down the front of his trousers. He shuddered involuntarily at the unwelcome sensation of invasion as the water trickled down to his groin. But it worked, effectively counteracting his body's response to her.

Gwen turned just then, a question about something in the map on her lips, one finger still marking the specific spot she'd been studying on the chart. At the sight of him, she raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips to suppress a smile and a comment.

"Oops," Jack said, as though he'd just noticed the water dripping down his body. He set his empty mug aside and stepped around Gwen, grabbing the first thing he saw to try to dry himself off.

Then, acting as though it were an everyday occurrence for grown men to spill drinks on themselves, and that it was just as normal for a man to stand there rubbing his wet stomach with a British flag, Jack looked over Gwen's shoulder at the chart.

"What is it?" he asked, referring to the question she had been about to ask.

Her trifling inquiry forgotten, Gwen stepped to her left and turned to face Jack rather than the table. "I might ask you the same question," she said, after stifling a reflexive comment on his disrespect toward the British colors. Likely he didn't care. On second thought, she found she didn't really care herself, anyway.

"It's water, luv," he answered matter-of-factly, patting at his chest with the Union Jack. "I spilled it."

"I meant, what made you spill it?"

"It's just hard to keep water in me mug when it's upside down, that's all," Jack said, with as much conviction as if he were giving her a perfectly rational excuse.

"Then why was your mug upside down?" Gwen tried one last time.

Jack gave her a pained, long-suffering look, as though she should surely know the answer to that. "Because it wasn't right-side-up," he informed her gravely.

Gwen sighed and abandoned him to his little game. She stretched and yawned.

"I'm glad Tortuga's far behind now," she commented offhandedly after a moment, idly toying with one of her braids.

Jack made a noncommittal, grunting sort of sound. He was removing his vest and weapons belts, laying them on the same chair where his coat had been laid aside during the warmer part of the day. Picking up the flag again, he went back to work on his wet clothing.

"You'll never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy," Gwen went on.

"I like scum," Jack said in defense of the wild port.

"And you're a villain."

"Does that mean you think I'm wretched too?" He grinned.

Gwen refrained from making a jesting comment about his current state, wet and ridiculous. "You are when you come in so drunk you can hardly remember your own name," she said.

"That can actually be a lovely experience," Jack said in a low voice. "I woke up just the other morning with a woman in me bed. And without getting slapped at any point."

"Try it when you're sober," Gwen replied to his teasing.

"That's one thing I try never to be. But if that's an invitation-"

"It isn't," Gwen said lightly. "But I do have another suggestion I would like to discuss."

Jack barely heard her last sentence, though. Referring to bed again when he already felt so lusty was a bad idea. "Going for a walk," he said suddenly and was gone out the door before Gwen could ask why.

* * *

The next day, Gwen held the compass up for the captain to see while he checked the Pearl's course. As Jack slipped the tethers around a knob on the wheel, to hold it steady, Gwen inspected the compass curiously. It looked rather like any other compass she had ever seen, but it obviously wasn't normal.

"Where did you get this?" she asked.

Jack took it back from her and it disappeared from sight into his vest somewhere. "Morning, Gibbs," he said as his first mate joined them. Turning back to Gwen he answered, with his usual smirk, "From a couple of sea turtles."

Gibbs shared a laugh with his captain. Gwen frowned and crossed her arms over her chest, clearly missing out on some joke.

"Did ye notice the red skies last night by chance, Cap'n?" Gibbs asked when they had stopped laughing.

"As a matter of fact, I did notice," Jack said, and Gwen grinned. He'd said the same thing last night to her own observation on the weather.

"Smooth sailing's sure," the first mate said. He looked up at the sky now, observing the good-natured puffy white clouds that littered the pale gray-blue dawn sky. Then he nodded toward the _Pearl_'s stygian sails, all of them unfurled to make maximum use of the wind that was carrying them swiftly across the surface of the sea. "Maybe the lass here _is_ good luck," he added, gesturing toward Gwen and then up at the full sails.

After a moment or two of silence, Gibbs observed unnecessarily, "Making good time t'ward wherever 'tis we're going."

"Aye," Jack agreed.

"Some o' the men's wonderin' where that might be," Gibbs said when the captain didn't respond to his first, more subtle comment.

"Aye," Jack said again.

Knowing he wouldn't get anything else from him, Gibbs merely nodded his understanding of Jack's avoidance of the subject. "Cap'n. Good day to you, Miss Gwendolyn."

Gwen smiled at him in acknowledgment, remembering when Jack had commented on the man's not particularly liking women aboard a ship. Bad luck, it seemed. It was probably quite a confession for the overly superstitious man to drop the accusation against her.

When he was gone, Jack turned to Gwen. "Some o' the captain's wondering where 'tis we're going," he commented.

"Only some of you?"

"The rest of me's wondering how much rum and pleasurable company the plunder will fetch me," he grinned.

He was also wondering whether the faint pink tinge in Gwen's cheeks then was from embarrassment at his allusion to whores or from jealousy.

"Suppose we're going nowhere," Gwen said after a moment, voicing a troubling thought that had occurred to her a few times. "What if it's really not treasure that we're heading towards?" Just because Jack was trying to convince her that the compass was trying to lead them treasure wasn't good enough for her.

Jack's smile faded a bit. But of course, he'd already thought of that. "Look, luv," he said, sharing the conclusion he'd come to himself. "Where we're going right now is wherever 'tis you and me devil compass are taking us, savvy? Because I can't resist," he said with a smirk, though it was very much the truth. "After that, we'll just have to see whether or not _you_ still owe me a shipload of swag, which would be your problem."

Gwen scowled at his last sentence, but ignored it in her reply. "And what if we're blindly following your 'devil compass' into something dreadful?"

"It doesn't stand a chance," Jack replied, spreading his arms out grandly. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."

Frustrated, Gwen pointed out, "Well, Captain, you can introduce yourself to whomever you wish, but you still have no proof it isn't another curse, one that you can't defeat with just a little spilled blood."

"Well, you're me good luck against that," he countered, his chilled tone incongruous to his casual words. "Gibbs confessed it himself."

"That's ridiculous," she told him flatly. "I could be cursed myself for all you know, and that would be why your bewitched compass is leading _me_ to some cursed treasure."

"When I want your opinion, woman, I'll ask for it," Jack told her bluntly.

"You don't ever ask for anything else when you want it," she said angrily, one hand reflexively reaching to touch her lower lip. It was slightly swollen this morning, as any woman's is after her first passionate kiss.

"You didn't argue," he said fiercely.

Mistake. He could see it in her wild eyes and clenched jaw. The familiar stance of a woman about to launch the most favored attack of her entire gender. He prepared himself for the open-handed slap he was about to receive...

...and sucked in a sharp breath as a hand-grenade exploded in his trousers. He reached for the ship's wheel to steady himself as the pain spread white-hot through his stomach and down his legs, centering at his groin. She'd done it. She'd actually done it. He wasn't sure whether she had used some unsuspected power in her feminine fist or if she'd kneed him. Wasn't sure it really mattered at this point. It could matter later.

He gritted his teeth and glanced up, hoping no one had witnessed the humiliating assault. As luck would have it, he noticed that it was that blessed time of early morning when the last night watch had gone below to rouse their replacements, and only a couple of his men were above deck. And, thankfully, none of them seemed to be paying any real attention.

He focused on her retreating figure, with hair like Medusa's in its loathsome braids. She was heading below deck. And then he noticed Will, apparently having met Gwen just a few seconds before, heading up toward the helm.

Jack groaned as he clung to the wheel, feeling acutely his heartbeat throbbing from his knees to his navel, every beat as potent as a cannon's blast. He glared maliciously at Will as he joined him.

"You say one word, and Elizabeth will be a widow," he growled at the other man's amused expression.

* * *

"I _had_ suspected-"

"I know you had," Gwen cut her off. Then, realizing her unintentional rudeness to her friend, she smiled apologetically at Elizabeth. Taking a breath to calm herself, she went on. "But honestly, nothing happened. I sleep every night down the hall from the mess hall. And there was one night in Tortuga I accidentally dozed off in his cabin when he wasn't there."

Elizabeth looked surprised at this.

"And there was certainly nothing close about our relationship. I'm his guide to something he wants, treasure. That's all."

"That's not what it looks like to me," Elizabeth said with a gentle smile. "Or to Will. Jack likes matching wits with people, and there aren't many who can catch him at every turn. You can tell he's enjoying himself around you."

"Exactly it!" Gwen said. "He enjoys _himself_."

"He's a pirate," Elizabeth said, with the air of one long accustomed to excusing the man's selfish nature.

"He's conceited."

* * *

"Devil take the hussy," Jack grunted. Finally, the pain had reduced to only a residual ache, leaving him with a tingling sensation that was nearly pleasant compared to the anguish of before. The release was almost as satisfying as a release of a different sort.

"Damn her," he added for good measure at the reminder of the night before.

"It seems you've found yourself a girl, but are otherwise incapable of wooing said strumpet," Will said, unable to let the opportunity slip past without comment.

"Will? Ye're going to have a hard time trying to explain to Elizabeth why ye're a eunuch."

* * *

"He kissed me," Gwen admitted.

"Did he?" Elizabeth asked noncommittally.

"Did he ever," Gwen said with a soft groan of combined regret and remembered pleasure. Her tone stiffened again. "Just like him, taking without asking. He's full of himself."

* * *

"Hasn't Elizabeth ever-" Jack gestured in strange circles.

Will was accustomed to the odd gesticulating and understood what he was trying to ask, about the attack Jack had just suffered. "Actually, no," he said. "I hope your lady there doesn't give her any ideas, though."

"She is _not_ 'my' lady," Jack said vehemently. "She's an overly confident little hussy."

"Can't imagine you'd want any other sort, Jack," Will observed casually.

"I don't _want_ her," he lied. "I've had plenty of women, I don't need her."

Will lifted an eyebrow at the unasked-for information. "Who are you trying to convince?"

* * *

"No," Gwen insisted overly-fiercely. "I most certainly wouldn't. He may be immoral, but I would never even consider letting him-"

"I meant, would you be interested if he _cared_, not if he wanted to... you know," Elizabeth said, clearing up the vague wording of her previous question.

"Oh," Gwen said faintly. "No, I wouldn't. He's a bloody pirate, a scallywag," she added with more conviction.

"I find Will's pirate-ish streak to be exciting," Elizabeth commented.

"Will isn't a scoundrel. Or a rascal, or villain, or knave."

Elizabeth grinned and wondered if she should point out that Gwen obviously had a pirate song engraved in her mind.

Gwen shook her head at some thought she didn't bother putting into words. "Thank you, Elizabeth, for listening to me carry on. But I think I want to spend some time alone now, so I'll leave you in peace."

* * *

"Nice weather today," Will observed offhandedly as he left Jack at the helm.

Jack scowled at his back and looked up at the _Pearl_'s onyx-hued sails, taut with wind. He added a few more curses and condemnations to the list he was making for Gwen as he thought of her real or merely perceived charm over the weather.

* * *

Will watched as Elizabeth undressed in their little cabin to prepare for her afternoon nap. She wasn't quite far enough along- at just a couple of months- for morning sickness to start launching its worst assaults, but she did grow tired much more easily and had come to appreciate a mid-day rest.

"I talked to Gwen early this morning," Elizabeth said offhandedly as she crawled into bed.

"I talked to Jack," Will grinned, not bothering to ask the content of his wife's conversation.

"Your diagnosis?" Elizabeth said.

"The part of his thinking he's done within his trousers is quite fond her," he said tactfully. "The rest of him is trying to pretend that that's the only thing thinking about her. And Gwen?"

"Is trying to convince herself he's a scallywag, and that she isn't willing to stoop to his level." At Will's "go-ahead" expression, she continued, "She's trying to convince herself that her reasons for not liking him are completely sound ones in her own way of thinking. And not even succeeding first in pretending she doesn't like him."

Will shook his head in amusement at and then dismissal of the situation between their old friend and their new one. He kissed Elizabeth as she settled under the blankets. "Well, sleep well, dear," he said.

"I love you, pirate" Elizabeth said, closing her eyes.

"As I love you, wench," Will said with a grin.

Elizabeth opened her eyes just a bit to pin him with a mildly reproving look, then smiled at him and settled in for her nap.


	13. Gwendolyn Webster, the Respectable Lady?

_**Disclaimer:**__ I own nothing but Gwen and a few other bits and pieces. I turn no profit but egotistical satisfaction from readers and reviewers like you._

* * *

**Chapter 13: Gwendolyn Webster or Just Gwen?**

Jack stayed pretty much on deck all day long after Gwen sacked him early in the morning, even skipping the midday meal, which he normally took with the crew in the galley. He didn't care to confess it to himself, but the truth was that he was avoiding Gwen, who had gone below decks and never emerged again.

She could match him blow for blow in all categories of wit, criticism, and insult. Not only that, she had demonstrated rather vividly, in less than twenty-four hours, that she also had quite a bit of control in being able to affect him physically, both positively and negatively. He wasn't sure he liked any of it. Or, more accurately, he found all of these aspects about her to be new and exciting and challenging. The real trouble was, he wasn't sure he liked them to be new or exciting or challenging.

None of the crew really seemed to notice his pointed interest in staying above deck. The captain was damn near impossible to predict anyway. Skipping meals or lingering at the helm for long stretches at a time or climbing through the rigging painstakingly and meticulously inspecting every line personally- none of these were particularly suspect to anything amiss about the quirky captain.

But if no one else made any particular note of the captain's remaining above decks, Gwen certainly did.

Predators and their prey often have one thing in particular in common: each always strives to know the location of the other. And it was certainly true that, at least in Gwen's subconscious thoughts, Jack had become a predator of sorts, though she pointedly didn't let any of what she told herself were _his_ crimes against her seep into her own blame-pot. (She couldn't know that Jack himself saw her as the predator in the light of his unsavory injury.)

Jack represented some darker side of herself- both a mental loosening of restraints regarding propriety and morality and a physical step or two toward permanently breaking through some of the more stringent of those mental attitudes and codes. Already, she'd kissed him- and she didn't deceive herself on how innocuous it had been. Or _hadn't_ been, really. In polite society only a couple at least firmly betrothed would kiss with such abandon. And she'd used violence against him now as well. Both faults could clearly be attributed to him. (She seemed to have forgotten that she still wasn't really sure if Jack had been the one to move first to kiss her, and ignored the fact that she didn't necessarily _have_ to punch him that morning.) But there was also no denying that she was turning loose of many of her ingrained aversions to such things as lying, theft, and general lawlessness.

And so, with this sense of him, Gwen made it a point to avoid him so she could try to avoid thinking the thoughts that went with him. She stayed below deck all day.

The rest of the morning, after she left Elizabeth's company, she spent not alone as she had intended, but helping a group of five crewmen whom she met on their way to the hold. There the half-dozen of them passed several hours organizing and reorganizing the recently-replenished stock of food and supplies and other cargo.

At first she found the very idea of the rather dirty men caring about organization ridiculous, but the surprise faded quickly. The men needed something to occupy their time. Apparently, the captain made use of such predictable restlessness while assuaging it as well. He assigned his men such necessary tasks from time to time to help alleviate boredom.

The crewmen were actually rather chivalrous towards her helping them, despite their occasional joking allusions to certain uses women had. They didn't want her to strain her slight, feminine body, but she insisted on helping lift and move some of the smaller crates and barrels, which they finally permitted after a light debate or two. She soon lost herself in the logic and rhythm of the task.

Foodstuff had to be stored in a very handy, easily accessible part of the hold, so that the cook and his drafted helpers would have ready access to it. Also, some of the crates required special care that they be placed where air could circulate a bit more freely around the flesh of the fruit they contained, to keep the perishables from spoiling too quickly.

The extra ammunition for the cannons and especially the gunpowder and crates of grenades had to be stored equally as handy but with even greater care. If a pirate wandered into the hold and accidentally held his candle or torch too close to the stuff, it could only spell disaster.

All of the barrels and crates had be stacked carefully and lashed down in such a way that even high seas wouldn't send them crashing against each other, which would spoil the contents of the cargo, as well as the hard work of Gwen and the pirates. However, the lashing couldn't limit the accessibility of certain key stores, especially the food and ammunition.

And so on and so forth until the morning and the crate-stacking were both finished.

After lunch, Gwen spent her afternoon in stark contrast to her morning, frittering away the hours with a deck of cards and a handful of men that she was reluctant to admit, at the end of several hours of banter and gaming, were becoming as much her friends as the more civilized Turners.

When dinnertime arrived, however, it finally managed to flush her out of the underground- or the under-deck, as it were. She was drawn inescapably to the captain's cabin. Where else could she possibly go? She was startled to realize she hadn't spent her evenings, with the exception of the few days they were docked in Tortuga, anywhere other than with Jack in his quarters.

And so she found herself standing at his door. Screwing up her nerve to prepare to face whatever mood or grudge he threw at her, she opened the door. She paused before entering the room, frowning at herself as she realized something. She hadn't knocked. Was she in the habit of not knocking at his door? She bit her lip, slightly disconcerted at the obvious sign of familiarity.

When she stepped inside and pulled the door to behind her, Jack looked up at her from where he stood in the center of the room. As if merely continuing a conversation that had been going on for some time already, he said, "Women _slap_. It's in yer Code somewhere, some bedeviling womanish code on men."

Gwen, lost in thought, didn't say anything.

"They certainly don't," Jack continued, pointing a finger accusingly right between her eyes, "try to damage any of the goods."

"I never signed any such 'code,'" she answered, somewhat absently, as she walked past him toward the food-tray on the desk.

"Ye should have," Jack said grumpily.

"Actually," Gwen said slowly, quite without the courage of a gulp of rum but not wanting to miss this opportunity while the subject was so close, "I was thinking of signing _your_ Code."

Jack didn't respond, only staring blankly at her.

"I don't have any experience sailing, I know, and Gibbs thinks it's bad luck and all," she rushed on, "but I'd like to join the crew!"

"I'll think about it," Jack said casually, and he couldn't be persuaded to talk of it again for the rest of the evening.

* * *

Gwen spent the next few days enjoying herself, avoiding thinking too much about her still-unanswered request. She spent time with Jack. Their playful friendship seemed to pick up right where it left off with no one but Elizabeth and Will the wiser.

She spent time with the Turners, who were thoroughly enjoying what was to them simply a nice vacation. And she spent time with the crew, whose catcalls and indecent suggestions had tapered off into friendly jesting and sport. They seemed to accept her, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, into the sort of fraternity they comprised as men who lived and sailed together.

In fact, if it weren't for the stealing, and drinking, and other such vices... well, these men were almost more civilized and friendly in some ways than some of the finest of English society.

Gwen found herself playing cards for hours a day, with groups that varied in size and members, sometimes playing in the morning and sometimes in the afternoon.

The men told her, as they taught her the hierarchy of the different hands in poker during one card-playing session, that by their Code, they didn't gamble with each other. It promoted bitter feelings and envy when a man lost all his money to someone with an unfair amount of luck. And as shipmates, they couldn't afford to be angry at each other over such things. Gwen nearly laughed out loud then as the men drew out their own stacks of silver and gold coin to play with. The men wordlessly all contributed to giving Gwen a small pot to begin with so she could play a few hands, and the game began without further mention of the Code.

Despite being a beginner, once Gwen had played for a while to get a feel for the strategies, she found herself on a winning streak, with a growing heap of coins to show for her amazing luck. Some of the men seemed to be getting very aggressive by this point in the game, however, and she was almost glad when the group made to break up. She had begun to worry about the fact that many of the men were showing signs of the bitterness, envy, and anger they'd mentioned avoiding.

But then a slip of paper, which one man had scratched a few names and figures on before the game had begun, was brought out, and everyone's winnings were pooled again and sorted back out into neat stacks in front of their original owners. The men clapped each other on the back- and Gwen as well- and shook hands and grinned at each other as they left the table exactly as rich as they were beforehand. Gwen left feeling strangely energized and feeling that she had been allowed to participate in a bonding ritual of sorts with her new-found companions.

Gwen also spent some more time roaming and exploring the ship. Among the interesting things she found was a gymnasium of sorts. The pirates had cleared a rather wide space toward the stern of the ship, a couple of levels below decks, to use for dueling and sparring. At any time of the day, there were usually at least a few of the thirty-seven pirates spending long hours there honing their fighting skills with each other.

From what she could gather, the men actually avoided killing their plunder-victims unless necessary. So, for not only their own protection but for the lives of the men who tried to fight against them as well, they needed to be superior swordsmen so as to quickly subdue and restrain defensive merchants before duels turned unnecessarily deadly.

* * *

One evening, about a week after their departure from Tortuga, Gwen left her card-playing companions, which actually included both Turners as well that day, and headed above deck at dinnertime as per her custom. Once she was there, however, under the stars and the three-quarter moon and the dark wisps of cloud, she didn't head straight for the captain's door. Instead, she crossed to the starboard side of the ship, the opposite side to his cabin, and leaned against the rail, staring thoughtfully out into the night. She could hear the first night-watch assuming whatever posts they chose for themselves, but they seemed distant to her, and as if sensing her pensive mood, they all left her respectfully alone.

As much as she had tried not to, avoiding such thoughts as earnestly as she had thrown herself into enjoying her time on the ship without thinking too much about what it stood for, she hadn't been able to resist thinking about herself off and on throughout the last few days. Not just herself, not so broad a topic, but specifically how she had changed, for better or worse, in the short time since she had been aboard the _Black Pearl_.

She peered up at the acheronian dragon's-wings that were the _Black Pearl_'s sails as she finally allowed herself to give in to those thoughts of herself and the pirate-ship. She was startled when she counted the days and realized that she hadn't been on board for much over a scant two weeks. She felt, quite literally, that she had always been a denizen of the _Pearl_, that its _crew_ were the ones who had been new and that was the reason she had met them all as strangers before she started to get to know them. The _Pearl_ had deviously made itself so much a part of her that she suddenly realized she couldn't even imagine leaving it, let alone gather any real conviction in telling herself she would surely have to at some point.

The _Black Pearl_ wasn't just a ship, wasn't just a keel and a hull and a deck and sails, Gwen realized- the _Black Pearl_ was the embodiment of freedom. Her heart was no longer chained down to the hope of family in Port Royal. But it still wasn't really hers either. The _Pearl_ had silently stolen it from her.

She noted, somewhat distractedly, that her stomach hadn't even caused her any seasick trouble in at least the last week.

Gwen felt things toppling and crashing within her then as the realization of what she had just admitted to herself dawned on her. It didn't seem like so much, did it? Then why did she suddenly feel that things were making sense- almost too much sense?

She reminded herself grimly that the men of the _Pearl_, whether she enjoyed their company or not, were pirates, criminals and outlaws. She shouldn't let herself forget that.

If she _didn't_ leave the _Black Pearl_ along with Elizabeth and Will as soon as they returned to Port Royal, she would probably _never_ be able to.

Feeling suddenly weary, she turned slowly to regard the familiar door across the ship and towards the aft. Her mouth felt suddenly dry and full of cotton as she looked at that door for what it had abruptly become: a door set before her by a Gwen very different, in many ways, from the Gwendolyn Webster who had set out for the Caribbean virtually alone several long weeks ago. Now, she was someone without a place to belong, trapped somewhere between two young women- one of them a decent and very respectable lady in her world, the other merely an enjoyable little lass in hers.

Gwen stared at the door for what could very well have been forever. She wasn't entirely sure how much time passed as she stood there, wondering if _he_ really even noticed that she hadn't yet arrived for dinner. But finally, she made her choice, the only one she could allow herself to make, silently wishing and hoping that she wouldn't end up regretting it for the rest of her life. She began to cross the deck toward the captain's door to do what she had decided she had to do- what she really wanted to do- as part of setting out on the life that she had just concluded was the only one she could allow herself to live now.

* * *

Jack felt lonely. And he didn't like it.

She should have been there an hour ago. Perhaps two. He wasn't sure himself how long it had been since the cook had shuffled in with the usual double-portion of food.

He had considered going to look for her. There were only so many places on the ship that she could be. But he had reminded himself that just because she was a few minutes late didn't mean anything. She may not have been anywhere near the card-tables in the galley that evening, may not have seen the cook coming up with their dinner.

He had reminded himself that until he didn't believe it anymore. So then he had reminded himself that she was just another woman, and no real concern of his, and he certainly didn't care what she did in her spare time. 'But this part of her time is _mine_,' he thought. And immediately reminded himself he really didn't care.

The lass spent a great deal of her time with his crew, perhaps she had finally chosen to spend her evening with one of the men instead of with the captain.

Young ladies often married men ten or twenty or more years their senior in the world these days, but even Elizabeth had chosen Will, as young as she herself, over Norrington when it came down to it. Perhaps Gwen had finally been tempted to give up her token to John, or perhaps one of the other, younger men a decade closer in age to her than Jack was himself.

Frowning deeply, he firmly reminded himself that he didn't care as he crossed his room to the shelf where he kept his flags, amongst other things. Squirreling around carefully, he finally pulled a bottle of rum out of the folds of the Portuguese colors. Unstopping the bottle, he silently toasted to the _Pearl_ and to freedom and downed nearly a third of the spicy liquid.

He flopped down in his desk chair, taking another swig of rum before setting the bottle down on the edge of his desk and tugging off his boots in preparation for going to bed. He tried to sit still and make himself relax for a moment, but he couldn't do it. Snatching up the rum again, he began to pace barefooted around the smallish space.

Suddenly, without the grace of a knock, the door swung open.

Gwen threw a quick glance around the cabin as she shut the door behind her, noting automatically that Jack was drinking more than his usual ration of rum. She also noticed, sitting on his desk, the cook's shining silver tray. The food on it was completely untasted. Somehow it touched her that he had obviously been waiting for her, though she didn't feel much like eating now.

Gwen bit her lower lip, reminding herself that she had made this decision solely for herself. She didn't really _have_ to do this- but she wanted to. Wanted to very badly, if she was perfectly honest. Gathering her resolve and courage and quashing the last of her resistance, she looked up into the pirate captain's dark eyes, wondering what he would think of her as soon as he realized what it was she had decided to do.


	14. I'm Just Your Gwen

_**Disclaimer:**__ One little, two little, three little pirates, four little, five little, six little pirates, seven little, eight little, nine little pirates, and many more and none belong to me. I make no profit. I own nothing, really._

* * *

**Chapter 14: I'm Just Your Gwen**

She looked up into the pirate captain's dark eyes, wondering what he would think of her as soon as he realized what she had decided to do.

But, for once, it was time to let her rash streak take control.

Before Jack could ask her where she had been for the past couple of hours, she wordlessly snagged his braided goatee and gently tugged his face down to her. He immediately tried to protest, but her lips were in his way. Gwen let go of her hold on his beard, sliding her hands up to cup his face, splaying her fingers out over his jaw and ears and into his hair. Simultaneously, she forced her tongue into his mouth. He tasted of rum. After a long minute or two, she drew away from the searching kiss and looked up at him.

It was difficult to tell what his dark eyes were trying to tell her, or what they were trying to hide from her. He seemed surprised, of course, even though he was clearly trying to take it all in stride. What else? Did he look hopeful? Was _she_ just being hopeful?

She noticed that his rum bottle was still held loosely in one hand. Reaching to take it from him, she took a long draw from the bottle and set it aside.

Gwen licked her lips and realized Jack hadn't moved. He was standing perfectly still, staring at her. When she looked up at him, however, he took the opportunity. With a hand under her chin to tilt her face up to meet his, he kissed her again. It was brief, but it left her breathless and it was somehow... well, "hungry" was the only word she could think of. It was also, she could sense, a question mark of sorts after the exclamation point she had made with her own kiss.

So now it was her turn to reply. Hesitating for only a moment, Gwen made her move. If Jack had been surprised at her marching in here and flat-out kissing him, it was nothing compared to the look of shock he bore when she wordlessly reached for the buckle of the baldric that held his favorite sword, which had been a gift from Will a year and a half ago. She already had the baldric off and slung in the general direction of his chair and was working on the well-worn leather belt around his waist before he could collect himself enough to react.

Catching her wrists with both hands, Jack glanced at the rum bottle sitting on the table, briefly entertaining the idea that she had already been drinking before she had come to him tonight. "What's wrong with ye, lass?"

Gwen didn't answer immediately. Her lower lip rolled inward in that way he had noticed she bit it when she was frustrated or worried or just thinking. Finally, she answered him, vaguely, in one word, a plea: "Jack..."

"Captain," he corrected automatically.

"Jack," she repeated much more firmly. She noticed his grip on her wrists was loose, and she casually flicked his restraint aside. Her small hands pressed flat against his chest, trailed down to his belly... And then a few seconds later there was a light, jingling thud as the buckle of his belt hit the floor.

"This is hardly behavior fitting for ye, Miss Webster," Jack said in a somewhat choked voice, astonished at himself for trying to talk sense into her now, but equally astounded by the way she was tugging his red-striped white sash away from his body.

Gwen looked up him, an unguarded expression on her braid-framed face that caught his full attention. "I'm just your Gwen," she said softly, but with much conviction, sending a chill up his spine. A chill which then turned into heat and plummeted to the pit of his stomach, spreading through his belly and groin.

For a long moment there was nothing but silence. Jack took a step or two closer to her, though they were already standing less than a foot away from each other, and took her into his arms.

With a teasing grin, he echoed, "_My _Gwen?"

She didn't say anything.

"What if I don't want ye, luv?" he asked, half-expecting a look of dismay to rise on her pretty features.

"Then you're a liar as well as a villain," she replied confidently.

Then she surprised him, yet again, when she snaked her arms around his waist, pulling their hips together. There was no hiding how much he wanted her with the evidence pressing against her stomach.

Jack willingly swallowed any other arguments he could possibly make. If she really wanted him, which she gave all appearances of, then he was certainly not going to miss the opportunity to bed her. He bent over her, meeting her lips in a light kiss which rapidly grew passionate.

Jack brought one hand up to Gwen's neck, running his thumb over her chin and jawline. His mouth left hers and began following the line he'd traced with his thumb while he gently tilted her head back. As he nibbled lightly at her earlobe and began to tongue his way down the long, graceful curve of her neck, his other hand reached for the line of buttons running down the front of her dress. He expected that if her "good-girl" inhibitions were going to return and spoil the mood, it would be when he began to undress her. But Gwen didn't even flinch as he pulled the buttons from their holes, one by one, with a quick skill.

And then he stopped, raising his head from her collarbone to meet her eyes.

He was determined to make this last. It was her first, he knew. But he had years of intimate experience under his belt. He had the maturity and control- at least, he hoped he did- to take his time, to take full advantage of Gwen's spirit and passion. For the mutual pleasure of them both.

"Jack..."

The way she said his name- he reluctantly admitted to himself that it sounded infinitely better than "Captain" when she said it that way. Just the right amount of desire and need mixed into the syllable, laced with both a question and a demand.

She was loathe to lose his lips and his touch. And he had to agree with those sentiments.

He kissed her again, and a no-holds-barred battle ensued between their tongues. Jack crushed her against himself once more. His hands cupped her buttocks, hugging her lower body as close to him as possible. He wanted- needed- to feel that exquisite ache that pounded through him with his hardness trapped between their bodies.

Jack slid his hands around to her hips, then began slowly moving them up her body, exploring. She flinched slightly as he passed a spot on her side. A ticklish rib. He smiled against her lips as he made note of it for future exploitation.

His hands stopped their trek at her breasts, his thumbs expertly massaging her nipples. A pleasant "mmm" sound rewarded his efforts, encouraging him. With deft movements he hooked his thumbs into the two now-unfastened sides of the front of her dress, and began to pull them apart, so he could slide the garment off her shoulders and down her body.

But he didn't quite get that far. A purposeful knock at his door halted his actions, and their kiss broke apart as both heads turned toward the door as though it had become a living thing. A particularly foul and unwelcome living thing, at that.

"Cap'n!" came a voice. "Land spotted!"

Jack stared at the door a moment longer, the report not really registering in his mind. He turned back to Gwen, whose interest in the door had apparently died as quickly as his had. He locked eyes with her for a moment.

Then Gwen's hands were sliding his vest down his arms, and he recaptured her lips for another deep, searching kiss.

He was marveling at Gwen's boldness, several minutes later, as she untucked his shirt and slipped her hands to skim over his skin underneath, when the door attacked again.

If someone who absolutely abhorred snakes had found one in his bed and cut its head off and then witnessed the headless snake's body writhing in its gruesome way when it was _supposed_ to lie dead and harmless, then that person would understand completely the malicious glare that Jack threw at the door now.

Another voice, with a lazier accent that the one before, called. "Cept'n? An island's got sighted, dead ahead."

Jack slowly, reluctantly processed and interpreted all the information. First, those had been people _knocking_ at his door, a sound he wasn't really all that accustomed to anymore with Gwen's habit of waltzing in without warning. He had to remind himself as well that doors usually weren't in the habit of interrupting amorous interludes of their own accord.

Second, his crew clearly expected him to come investigate the island-sighting himself, which, under normal circumstances, he would have done promptly.

And third, Gwen looked sensational.

She was staring up at him with her warm brown eyes, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she watched him. Her braided hair and the strip from his sash tied around her head suited her quite well, he thought- and reminded him of himself, since he'd done it. Her dress hung open, revealing a glimpse of the thin chemise through which he could easily see her hardened nipples standing out.

Which only made him the more upset at being interrupted. He swore under his breath as he began re-gathering his clothes. Gwen said nothing, but followed his lead and started re-buttoning her dress, though she was distinctly disappointed.

But her disappointment, at least, wasn't quite as noticeable as his. Jack ended up belting his sash a bit farther down his body than he normally did to simultaneously try to hide and ease his uncomfortable hard-on.

Gwen drew a finger thoughtfully across her lips as she watched the captain shoving his feet back into his boots. She picked up his hat and held it out to him just as he whirled to snatch it up. His scowl turned to a half-hearted grin for her sake, and he settled his hat on his head.

"C'mon, lass," he said dully, checking his pockets for his compass before opening the door. Gwen glanced longingly over at the bed before she followed him out into the night.

* * *

It took fully half an hour before they could even hear the breakers off-shore of the island, forty-five minutes before they were floating off its shore. The clear night, combined with the bright moon reflecting off the sea and the sharp, night-trained eye of the man in the crow's nest at that hour, had brought the spit of land into view when it was scarcely more than a dark spot in the moon-bathed waters. And they'd notified him, damn their over-eager souls, not much after that.

As the time ticked by, Jack tried not to let his disappointed desires get the better of him. But surely the crew could have waited before they had come for him.

Jack thought glumly about all the things he could have done with Gwen in all that wasted time as he stood watching the island drag slowly nearer. Could've done some of them twice, even.

When those thoughts had run their course, not helping his aching groin any, he turned back to silent curses for a moment before stealing a glance at Gwen, standing beside him at the helm.

She had seduced him.

He tried the thought again, to make sure he fully understood what had happened. _She_ had seduced _him_.

Or she had tried, and very well would have had him between her legs before too much longer if only they hadn't been disturbed. He wished earnestly that she _had_ succeeded.

Then, with an audible groan, he had to force himself to veer away from those thoughts. And force himself to keep his hands on the wheel lest he try to take matters into them best left hidden for now. And force himself to bite his tongue on suggestions to Gwen on what she could do with _her _hands. Or what she could do in general.

He grimaced. Women _were _bad luck. Had to be. A man couldn't concentrate like this. Well, couldn't concentrate on anything that involved wearing clothes or acting civilized.

But by the time those forty-five minutes had passed, Jack's mood and body had neutralized themselves somewhat.

The island, he estimated, was about two and half miles long and perhaps half a mile or so across in some places. When the _Pearl_ had gotten as close to it as he dared let her go without running into the shoals, he brought out his compass and passed it to Gwen and whatever mystic secret she held that made it useful only in her hand these days. Then he began to steer the ship in a broad circle around the island. After about fifteen minutes, when it became clear that the compass needle was following the island, not the horizon, he was satisfied that this was their destination, not merely an obstacle directly in the path on the way to some other goal.

Gwen, as soon as she was no longer needed to hold the compass, silently slipped away and disappeared back into the captain's quarters. The captain himself, however, couldn't manage to sneak away so quickly. An hour came and went, and then another, as he continued sailing his circle around the island, peering into the moonlit gloom for any obvious signs of human or animal life or other signs of danger they might want to know about immediately. The night-crew, embellished with some of the more light-sleeping men who had heard the original calls or the tramping around on the deck above their heads, leaned over the sides of the ship, listening carefully for breakers lest the _Pearl_ scrape along rocky ridges or sandbars as they made their slow progress around the island.

Once, for a brief moment, Jack was almost certain he had seen a light deep with a cluster of trees. But just as quickly, it was gone, and he decided he must have imagined the flicker. When at last Jack and his men were satisfied with their survey of the island, Jack gave the order to drop anchor and wearily made his way back to his cabin.

He'd managed to at least push to the back of his mind the events of earlier. Now, though, his relative good mood was in peril of being consumed by bitterness at his failed love-making. Gwen had actually come to him, had been _begging _him, really...

When he let himself into his cabin, he found Gwen in his bed, fast asleep. She had left one of the lamps on his desk burning low for him, but apparently had either been too tired or disappointed to wait up when he didn't come back quickly enough.

Jack allowed himself to wonder what had happened with her as he pulled off his boots, coat, belt, sash, and vest. Well, even he himself had noticed that she had thrown herself into enjoying her time on the ship recently. Perhaps she had finally just abandoned all and embraced the _Pearl_?

He would bring up the subject of the Code with Gibbs and the crew in the morning, perhaps. He had been waiting for some sign that Gwen was truly committed to the idea of abandoning her prior lifestyle before he answered her request to join the ship's crew. He hadn't know exactly he was waiting for as the sign... but her behavior tonight certainly counted.

Turning the wick in the lamp down, Jack moved over to the bed.

He slid into bed beside her. For a second or two he found himself staring into Gwen's half-lidded eyes and his hope flared high, but then she merely settled against him, making sleepy little sounds and drifting back out of consciousness. Wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close, Jack sighed heavily. This wasn't exactly what a man expected to do when he slept with a woman. Usually there were fewer clothes, more sweat, and more satisfaction.


	15. The Morning After

_**Disclaimer:**__ I don't own much really. Not responsible for or benefited by anything that happens once the party starts swinging._

* * *

**Chapter 15: The Morning After**

Gwen woke up feeling a bit warmer but a lot more comfortable than she usually did in the mornings. Immediately she realized this was because of how closely she was curled against Jack's side, sharing his body heat in his bed (a marked improvement over her rug on the floor in the storeroom). He must have sneaked in sometime during the night, after she'd fallen asleep. She sighed resignedly as she remembered the night before and propped her head in her left hand to look down at him, careful not to move too much so as not wake him yet.

She had been afraid this might happen: with her determination and resolve wasted on that futile attempt last night, and her feminine virtue still intact, she was beginning to have second thoughts. She had thoroughly convinced herself that she wasn't going to worry, just _do_. Just feel and love and live. Enjoy life with the freedom and abandon that the men of the _Black Pearl_ were possessed of.

But in the innocent pale light of dawn, that idyllic scenario was beginning to look somehow less exciting and more like just another of her rash decisions. She wanted to stay on the _Pearl_. That, at least, was not arguable. There was nothing for her in Port Royal. Or anywhere else in the Caribbean. Or really anywhere else in the world. But here, she could be free, she could belong somehow. The crew had practically accepted her as one of them already. Would it be so hard to convince them- and their captain- to accept her permanently, rather than just as an amusing guest?

But sleeping with the captain- sleeping with _Jack_- well, she should know better. She _did _know better. She had just convinced herself last night that it didn't matter. If life was about fun and thrills, as Jack and his crew seemed to think, then it just didn't matter.

Now, though, her practical arguments against it rose once again. She was an unwed young lady. The idea of sacrificing her innocence for the pleasure of a moment- for the pleasure of a man- was supposed to make her blush and cringe away. Not to mention that the man in question was a pirate. Any favors she could bestow on him he would simply take, not as tokens of affection, but as greedily as if she _owed_ them to him. He would ravish her and satisfy his own lust, and at the end of the day, he would still belong only to himself. And when he grew disinterested, she would be left a dishonest and broken woman, with nothing to offer anyone.

Gwen chewed on her lip as she considered these unsavory things and studied Jack's features as he slept. The kohl-darkened eyes; the wild mass of hair; the scruffy beard and braided goatee; the lips that had kissed her so hungrily, that had consumed her completely.

Yes, he had already marked her. She'd already given up much of her innocence to him and to the _Pearl_. Now, she couldn't even muster any proper embarrassment at the pleasant warmth of their bodies snuggled together.

Her eyes slid away from his face, and then she noticed for the first time the edge of an angry red scar on his upper chest. Pushing the blankets farther down his torso, she was surprised to find two round marks in his tanned skin. She didn't know much about such wounds, but it looked very much as though he had been shot and then had healed. Her eyebrows furrowed at this evidence of some of the less pleasurable events in his shrouded history. A pirate's history. If she stayed with him, would she get shot at? Would she be lucky enough to survive, like he obviously had?

She shook her head, clearing those thoughts. No. She could allow herself to doubt Jack's embrace, but she couldn't allow herself to doubt that his carefree life really was the kind that she wanted for herself. Hang the consequences, she wasn't going to care. _A pirate's life for me_. But that didn't have to mean a pirate's _bed_ for her, now did it?

Just then, he started stirring.

As Jack awakened and his senses and memory engaged, he recalled the last time he'd woken up in his bed beside Gwen. He idly compared the two experiences, the former and the current, as he peeled his eyes open. This time, her dress was laid out neatly on the desk chair, since she had fallen asleep in the bed on purpose rather than accidentally. His skull wasn't pounding and his body wasn't trying to exact vengeance on him for drinking half a keg full of rum. And Gwen wasn't squirming away from him. She was lying on her side, her body still cuddled close against his, head in her hand. Her other hand lay casually, fingers curled under, on his chest, just over the twin scars from a couple of balls that had nearly killed him once. Her expression was unreadable as she stared down at him, but that didn't worry him.

A roguish grin swept across his face, and he tightened his arms around her.

"Where were we, luv?"

Gwen cast about for something to say in response to his suggestive inquiry. By her current estimation, _they _weren't anywhere because _she_ wasn't entirely sure she wanted to be there in his arms and in his bed just then at all. Or, more accurately, she wasn't sure she liked the fact that, despite all, she still _did_ want to be there.

But she took too long deliberating. Jack pulled her down to him and was already kissing her before she could form any protestations. His lips were insistent against hers, but he kept the kisses light, taunting her.

Gwen tried not to be swayed, tried to remind herself again why she shouldn't toy with Jack. He didn't really care for her, after all. But she could feel herself giving in.

Well, he cared _enough_ right _now_, didn't he?

Gwen was uneasily aware of how quickly her new resolve- _against_ physical involvement with Jack- crumbled. But she shoved the unsolicited concerns to the back of her mind, grabbing at a handful of his hair and hair ornaments. Using the same tricks he had used on her, she tried to gain entrance into his mouth with her tongue.

Jack's lips curved into another impish smirk against hers at her initiative. All of his usual harlots and whores knew well that he preferred the dominant role during lovemaking. They generally always surrendered it to him without any ado, allowing him to do whatever he pleased with them. But in truth, while Jack certainly liked being in control of the situation, he didn't necessarily prefer his partners to be _submissive_. Which was one thing that Gwen definitely was not. She was accustomed to the give and take of their bantered and light-hearted arguments and apparently thought that would carry over into his bed as well.

Of the two of them, however, he was the only one who knew what gratified his desires the most. So it would be _his_ lead that they would follow.

He flipped them over unexpectedly, in a well-practiced roll, and Gwen found herself suddenly pinned beneath him. He used his weight to keep her from moving, though he supported most of it off of her with his arms.

Rather than fight him, knowing she was trapped, Gwen slid her arms around him as he kissed her, his hair flipping forward to tickle the sides of her cheeks. Stubbornly, though, she attempted to refuse him when he tried to deepen his kiss. Her resistance didn't last long, however, and Jack explored her mouth, fighting against her tongue, drawing pleasant little sounds from the back of her throat as she gave herself into the kiss.

And then his lips were gone.

Gwen watched Jack curiously as he drew his knees up at her sides and sat up. He pulled himself into a sort of half-sitting, half-kneeling position, with his legs hugging her hips, freeing up his hands. Bending forward over her, he deftly tugged at the laces that ran down the upper part her cotton chemise, slowly loosening the scooped neck of the light garment. He lowered his head to the skin he was revealing, trailing light kisses down her sternum toward the valley between her breasts.

He yanked the remaining laces from their holes. Gwen bit her bottom lip reflexively as he parted the material, baring her chest from her throat to the middle of her rib-cage.

Jack ran his hands upward over her exposed flesh, inverted so that the backs of them touched her skin. He grinned as he felt an involuntary shiver run through her body at the rough edges of his rings gliding over her nipples. When he reached her collarbone, he trailed his fingers along her shoulders, catching and pulling the fabric of her chemise until her arms were free of her sleeves.

Her upper half completely bare now, Jack allowed himself a moment to appraise her, letting his eyes roam lazily over her body. If he had thought her face and hands were a nearly-unhealthy pale tone, it was nothing compared to the pallid skin under her clothes. He imagined that a little more of the Caribbean sun would do her a world of good and almost felt sorry for the long years of her life she'd spent away from it. Of course, to remedy that, it would require her to wear a bit less for the sun to do certain parts of her any good…

Smiling lasciviously as he imagined her wandering naked around the deck of the _Pearl_, Jack skimmed his hands up her arms and along toward her breasts. She wasn't as… heavily endowed, so to speak, as some of the women he'd been with, but his experienced glance proved she was well-proportioned for her smallish frame.

Gwen arched her back instinctively toward him when he traced his fingers tantalizingly around the curve of her breasts. Her reaction caught his attention fully back to her and he looked up. He could tell she was a little nervous yet. Understandable, he granted her that much. But he would have to do something about that. As he met her eyes, she seemed to realize only then that she had been chewing on her lip again and released it. Her lips then formed an alluring sort of pouting half-smile at him, and Jack couldn't resist leaning forward to capture them yet again. He kissed her intensely, sliding his tongue over her lower lip and thrusting it deep into her mouth. And then just as suddenly, he broke away again, prompting a slight sound of protest from her.

Jack thumbed her nipples, rolling them expertly into hardened peaks. As he cupped her breasts in each hand, he distractedly thought that it was a perfect fit. Bending over her, he drew a nipple into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it.

"Jack!"

He stifled a reflexive reproach at her lack of using his title. She hardly ever addressed him specifically as "Captain" and wouldn't let him get away with reminding her without mocking him in that deceptively innocent manner she had. Instead, he merely grinned at her response to his ministrations and switched to the other breast in turn. As he did so, he let his hands slip away and glide down her sides, pushing the half-shed frock further down her body.

Gwen made a soft sound of pleasure deep in her throat- but it changed almost immediately into a surprised squeak and a stream of protestations.

"Jack! No! Stop it! Ja-aaack!"

She tried squirming away from him, but couldn't get very far with him still on top of her.

"Problem, luv?" he asked innocently, but didn't stop.

"Jack!"

He grinned at her, pleased at the way she was twisting and writhing under him, her partial embarrassment at her nudity forgotten. And as a bonus, no man would have been able to honestly say she wasn't putting on a magnificent showcase of that nudity now either.

But his offense quickly switched to defense, and he left off tickling her sensitive rib, which he'd discovered the night before. Catching her by the shoulders, he pinned her down, quickly calming her struggling. Gwen risked a glance up at him now that he had ceased his attack, but he wasn't looking back at her. She followed his gaze downward and realized then that her knee, in her flailing, had almost connected with the bulge in his trousers, and he had all but panicked.

Jack moved his hips then, in a rather provocative swinging motion, and Gwen looked up into his eyes guiltily. He'd caught her staring. Rather than letting herself shy away from the obvious goading, she grinned back up at him and lifted an eyebrow.

"Woman," Jack began, moving so that he no longer straddled her body, to protect certain prized possessions from her, "I'm going to write ye a new Code meself and ye'll sign it and abide by it. First off, no threats shall be made upon what makes a man a _man_, savvy?"

He leaned over her from a safer angle, gratified when Gwen's arms slid around him. He kissed her lightly, then leaned back again to look down at her.

"No _threats.._." Gwen repeated innocently.

Before he could anticipate it and try to block her, she had moved from his side to on top of him, straddling his thighs. He sucked in a sharp breath when she lay her hands flat against his stomach and dragged them down over the hard length of his arousal.

Lest she steal his careful control of himself away, Jack caught her roaming hands, wondering suddenly how he had let her get an upper hand against him. Well, no more of that, he thought as he pushed her off of him. But he didn't need any more encouragement. He reached for the thin cotton material still clinging around her lower body even as he felt her fingers scrabbling at the waist of his trousers. He grinned at her and turned his focus instead to undressing himself, as a means of getting to bare skin on skin faster, while she pulled her clothing off of herself as well.

When he reached for her again, their eyes locked and he met a look in those brown eyes that was as naked and vulnerable as her body now was. But the look faded quickly, replaced by something more salient, something familiar to him and easily identifiable: yearning, brazen desire, lust.

He descended upon Gwen with lingering caresses and wandering lips and a pleasure-seeking fervor that excited her. Jack was more than thrilled when she responded in like manner, at first just duplicating his motions, but quickly beginning to stroke and fondle and taste him at her own whims. He allowed himself to give in, if only a little, to her, but he furtively guided her eager touch for his own gratification as he discovered for himself her sensitive spots.

Jack held out as long as he could, courting Gwen's unreserved traits as well as her body, basking in pure sensation, but finally he moved over her. Nudging her legs apart with his knee and kissing her roughly, he leaned back from her face far enough to catch her gaze. "'S'going to hurt the first time, luv," he warned her, his voice gravelly with failing self-restraint.

Gwen's lip twitched slightly in response, but she fought against her nervous habit and didn't chew on it. Instead, she pulled Jack back down to her and kissed him fiercely in response. Taking this as her consent, Jack slid into her, breaking through her barrier, simultaneously thrusting his tongue into her mouth.

The deep kiss grew wild and wanton as he tried to distract them both. He was trying to distract Gwen from the pain and acute sense of invasion she was obviously going through while trying to keep himself from moving forward too quickly. He'd only bedded a virgin once or twice before and wasn't exactly sure how careful he was supposed to be. She kissed him back, just as passionately, but he could feel her body tense and stiff below him, and her fingernails were beginning to dig into his shoulders.

He began stroking her soothingly, trying to calm taut muscles, helping her relax. But when he couldn't hold still any longer, he gave in and began to move. Gwen cried out, whether in protest or pleasure or just surprise, he wasn't sure...

By the time he collapsed at her side, spent but finally, _finally_ sated, there was no doubt in his mind that she was just as fulfilled and contented by the release as he was. Gwen stretched indolently beside him, a soft _mmm_ purring from the back of her throat. He was almost tempted to languish with her in bed all day.

Almost.

Jack kissed her huskily one last time and then slipped out of bed.

"There's treasure to be found, lass," he said with an impish grin.

Gwen watched him, not at all surprised at his sudden shift in focus now that he'd gotten what he wanted. As he re-gathered his clothes, unashamed of his nakedness, and began to dress himself, Gwen inwardly reached for the indignation she should be feeling at how easily he pushed aside the fact that he'd just taken her innocence. But she couldn't find any such emotion. She only felt immensely satisfied and, truth be told, also rather curious about the treasure herself. Perhaps she _was_ a pirate after all.

"Ye'll be going ashore," he informed her cheerily, once again _Captain_ Sparrow. "So ye'll want to be getting dressed." He headed toward the door.

Before he stepped out, he flashed her a grin. "Not that _I_ want ye to."

He was in considerably higher spirits the morning _after_ their interrupted tryst than he had been the previous night.

Gwen tossed a pillow at him good-naturedly, but it hit the closing door and fell harmlessly to the floor. She sighed softly, thinking of Jack as she dragged herself out of bed and toward her clothes. Part of her still seemed to think perhaps she should be ashamed of herself, but she only smiled as images of Jack, bare and beautiful, swam through her mind, chasing her doubts away. She adjusted her dress one last time before following him onto the deck of the _Black Pearl_.


	16. The Island

_**Disclaimer:**__ Most stuff belongs to the Mousie. Some stuff may belong to other big names that I steal it from. The few shreds that are left after that are mine._

Nota Bene- If you don't know any Latin, you'll find translation/help at the end of the chapter. But it's pretty easy to catch the gist of anyway, I think. That is, the bits you'll find here are easy, at least.

* * *

**Chapter 16: The Island**

Gwen met Elizabeth lingering just outside the captain's cabin.

"I was waiting for you. Jack said you would be out right behind him," Elizabeth explained.

Gwen ignored the questioning tone of the other woman's voice. Elizabeth knew very well that Jack usually sprang up at dawn- sometimes even earlier- while Gwen had developed a tendency to loaf about in bed for at least a short while before starting her day. For Jack to finally appear on deck a full _hour_ after the sun had begun to rise was fishy. What was more fishy was Gwen emerging from his quarters in the morning.

"Isn't this exciting?" Gwen asked, instead of responding to her friend's comment. She moved, a bit hesitantly, toward the starboard side of the ship, looking out at the island the _Pearl_ had anchored at. "There could be treasure somewhere out there, just waiting for us to find it."

Gwen was uneasily aware of the way Elizabeth's eyes narrowed analytically at her as she walked. But if Elizabeth surmised anything, she didn't comment on it.

"'_Could_ be?' But I thought you were the one who knew where it was," Elizabeth said, frowning as she followed Gwen. "Jack keeps hinting that he's following your directions."

"Well," Gwen confessed, glad for the safety of discussing this subject as opposed to certain others, "It's Jack's compass."

Elizabeth frowned even harder. "That cursed thing? What about it?"

"It-" Gwen hesitated, wondering if she was allowed to tell or not. Well, it was _her_ secret, not Jack's, she decided. "It only works when _I_ touch it."

"How do you mean?"

"The needle points… to me. Unless I'm holding it. And then it points-" she jabbed her finger at the long island- "_there_. Somewhere on that island… there's something that wants _me _to find it, he thinks." _Or is that _I _want to find _it_ for some reason?_ Gwen shook those thoughts away. Who knew why it worked? She was letting Jack's odd theories on the whole thing rub off on her; that had been one of his guesses she'd turned down as whack.

Elizabeth stared at her in silence for a moment, looking a little jolted. She had been enjoying her holiday at sea, well pleased by the fact that Jack hadn't elected to haunt trade routes or raid seaside towns (at least so far) and content in the knowledge that they were going on a relatively innocent little venture. Elizabeth wrinkled her brow. What Gwen was telling her, however, reeked of unnatural forces at work.

"How do you even know that it's some treasure that's out there? How do you know it's not another _curse _of some sort?"

"Jack seems to think it's treasure," Gwen said offhandedly, realizing that Elizabeth was voicing the very concerns she'd had herself not so many days ago. Now, it didn't seem so important _why _they were there, just that they were there. Whatever it was that wanted to be found would be found. And surely everything would fall into place after that.

"Jack thinks the sun rises and sets just for him, too," Elizabeth observed.

"I don't think he cares what it is anyway. Just wants to know. His compass won't work for him now, besides."

"Will tried getting him a proper compass once, but he wouldn't have anything to do with it. Stubborn man," Elizabeth commented in the same tone she used when pointing out Jack's faults to him in person. "And I suppose he thinks he can handle anything that happens simply because he's the fabulous Captain Jack Sparrow?" Elizabeth's question came out more as an exasperated statement.

"Something like that," Gwen said distractedly. She was staring across the water at the island's nearest shore, lost in thought. Now that they were actually here, and she could see the actual goal sitting there before her, it seemed real. Her first adventure as a pirate. A rite of passage of sorts, she supposed. She wondered when she should tell Jack that she had no intention of leaving, but every intention of joining his crew.

From his vantage point at the helm, Jack watched the two women cross the ship. In spite of himself, he smiled in a sort of perverse masculine pride as he noted the slight awkward swagger in Gwen's step. No doubt she would be sore for a while.

Pressing his fists into his hips, he puffed his chest out in a deep breath as he cast his gaze then about his ship. With a very smug and self-satisfied smirk, he surveyed the industrious bustle of his crew as they readied a shore-boat and speculated amongst themselves on exactly what kind of treasure the captain was leading them to.

Jack's desires had been quenched, at least for the time being; his lungs were filled with the warm, sea-seasoned Caribbean air; his corrupt pirate's heart was full of the promise of the solution to a mystery and of the prospect of a new wealth to spend on rum. All was right in his world.

Breathing deeply, contentedly, once more, he sauntered down toward where Gwen and Elizabeth stood talking.

"Jack Sparrow," Elizabeth began as soon as she noticed him approaching, "there are a few things you forgot to tell Will and I about this little treasure-trip of yours."

Jack only smiled, his golden teeth catching the sun. "I be the captain," he reminded his old friend cheerfully. "I answer only to meself. And it was ye who forgot to _ask _about a few things."

"Jack, that's dishonest, and you know it. You know I certainly would have liked to know if you were chasing _cursed _treasure again, and dragging me into it as well. Besides, didn't you learn your lesson before?"

"Miss_ Turner_," he said impishly, "_I'm_ dishonest, and ye know it. And ye dragged yerself on board, luv."

Jack turned to wink at Gwen. For an instant, their eyes locked, and a thousand exultations on the pleasures of their newly-consummated partnership flew between them through the mutual stare. And then the link was broken, and Jack turned to shout orders at a couple of crewmen who had just appeared on deck from below.

_Partnership_. Or perhaps _alliance_, Gwen thought. Or some other such term. What _were_ you supposed to call someone with whom you were intimate solely for shared pleasure, rather than for the cause of affection? She knew when she had first sought his embrace the night before that any affair Jack had with her would be based entirely upon what she could offer him. Although he apparently did have some concern for seeing to it that she got an equal share of enjoyment from the deal. She recalled his kisses and caresses, sometimes rough and sometimes gentle, but always thrilling and satisfying.

But she knew that he didn't love her.

Which was just fine, because she didn't love him either. Certainly, he was interesting company, and their conversations were always very enjoyable. She loved when she could make him laugh and liked the challenge of trying make out glimpses of the sailor's heart and poet's soul that compelled the swaggering, self-sure captain. But that didn't mean she loved him. All told, she hadn't known him for scarcely more than a few weeks. And besides that, sometimes he could be _damned _irritating, and-

Gwen's eyes widened slightly in surprise at herself, and she clapped a hand up to her lips, as though she had spoken the curse aloud. Glancing around, she realized Elizabeth had left her to her thoughts and was now discussing something with her husband further toward the stern of the ship. Jack was now talking to Gibbs a few steps away.

She allowed herself a self-indulgent smile at her slip in vocabulary, even if no one had heard it. Perhaps she was spending a bit too much time around the card tables with the coarse-tongued crew. Although she supposed it was nothing compared to the way she had let Jack's smooth charm corrupt her…

Gwen had stopped expecting her conscience to convict her when she tried those self-incriminating lines on herself. But she wasn't prepared for the warmth that spread through her gut at the remembered sensations of scarcely a quarter of an hour earlier. Just as quickly though, she was aware again of the dull ache that had begun to set in. She grimaced. No doubt it would get worse before it would get better.

Jack had said it would hurt the _first _time. She sincerely hoped that meant that subsequent unions would be more comfortable. For a moment she mused on that idea.

"Gwen, luv, back to earth."

Gwen realized that Jack had turned back to her and now stood before her, waiting for her to snap out of her thoughts.

By now, Jack was used to her tendency to get lost within her own mind when she was left to her own devices. He didn't mind really- so long as she always paid attention to him when he wanted it, which she did.

"When do we go ashore, Captain?" Gwen asked without preamble.

"Now," Jack said matter-of-factly. "And that's J-" He caught himself just before he said it and narrowed his eyes menacingly at her.

Gwen smiled sweetly back at him.

"Bloody woman," he muttered, though his tone lacked sufficient malice to condemn her. She allowed him the title "Captain" so rarely that when she finally addressed him as such, his reflex had still been to correct her.

Slinging a long dread-lock out of his way over one shoulder, he cupped his other hand under her elbow and propelled her forward.

"Just us?" Gwen asked, amiably allowing him to steer her toward the shore-boat.

"Welcome to scouting duty, luv," Jack said by way of answer.

The two of them maintained a comfortable silence as Jack rowed them toward the shore.

Gwen was reminded of when he had sneaked her into Port Royal, intending to trade her off for money to her family as though she were cattle. Bemusedly, she smiled at him now, feeling very different from that still rather nervous and formal lass- well, _young lady_- that she had been then.

Jack merely grinned back at her, golden teeth shining, but when she turned away to look back at the _Pearl_, he frowned suspiciously as a few troubling thoughts occurred to him. Point: Gwen had tried to seduce him. Point: she had let him make love to her, had responded enthusiastically to him, in fact, not so long ago that very morning. Point: her sort of woman didn't sacrifice their virtue carelessly, especially not to such like as him.

He swallowed nervously. What if she did it because was in love with him? Expected the same from him?

He cleared his throat, with it clearing his mind of those concerns as well. Gwen glanced at him. He just smiled innocently at her, and her gaze drifted away again.

Well. Not his problem. She shouldn't have come to him if she didn't fully understand the conditions of the relationship. He didn't care for her like that. Just because she could keep his wit occupied for hours and whet his appetite with a single kiss didn't change the fact that he was Captain Jack Sparrow. And she was simply another addition to his line of willing women. A very pleasing addition, but nothing more. Not even slightly. He shook his head somewhat emphatically, assuring himself of the truth of that denial.

From the deck of the _Black Pearl_, with the far-reaching waters of the ocean stretching out all around it, the island didn't really seem all _too_ large. But from the beach, with sand and trees and rocks and tenacious plant-life for a mile or two in all directions, Gwen was admittedly a bit intimidated by the extent of land they would have had to search to find anything of value, whether treasure or merely information. It could take forever.

Jack clapped the compass into her hand and swung his arms out broadly. "Lead the way, luv."

Gwen flipped open the compass obediently, suddenly very grateful for it and its unearthly quirks, and studied the needle. Following its line with her eyes, she peered into the dense trees and dogged tropical foliage that covered the hill of the larger end of the long island. Hill. Actually, it looked more like a small mountain, a craggy hunk of insect- and vine-swathed rock and soil.

Well, to it, then. She set off, trudging up the beach toward the first stand of hardy trees that would eventually lead them up the awkward slope, ignoring the stiffness gripping the inner muscles of her lower body. She was aware of Jack falling into step beside her. He had shrugged off his coat and apparently left it with the beached boat. Without it, she noticed that he was more heavily armed than usual. The worn old baldric and the newer, tooled-leather sheath of his sword were familiar enough. The pistol tucked into his sash wasn't too unusual either, but the second sword jammed into his belt at his other hip and the switchblade she glimpsed tucked into the top of his boot made her wonder. He looked much like he did when she had first seen him, when he had been armed similarly as he and his crew overtook the _Graymere_.

Jack noticed her sizing him up, and rather than blush or turn away from her scrutiny of him, Gwen asked, "Do you think you've got enough there to deal with any situation that might rise up on this island?"

"I forgot me rope," he responded frankly.

"Rope?"

"To lash you to a tree so's ye can't run away in case something in particular _rises _up." He flashed her a lewd smile.

Gwen shook her head at his crude comment. "I scarcely think I feel much like running," she said truthfully, gathering her skirt out of her way with one hand as their path began to grow steeper.

Jack dampened his brief flash of concern before it could make it onto his face and he merely grinned at her discomfort.

At his patronizing expression, she asked, "Well, how would you feel afterward if you had something the size of a-" She stopped abruptly and her eyes cut involuntarily downward, below his belt.

Jack lifted an eyebrow and stared back at her, daring her to go on with her comparison.

"Probably about like it feels to have a lass bludgeon _mei_ _gladium_," he said accusingly after a moment.

At the look she gave him, he explained, "It's Latin, lass," and held out a hand to assist her while she found her footing on a particularly awkward piece of ground.

"I know that," Gwen said, pulling herself up to him by his grip on her hand. "But I'm surprised you know any Latin yourself."

"And how would _you _know anything of the ancients, being _solum_ _virgo_?"

"I was raised mostly by a governess who was daughter of a schoolteacher. My father was rather negligent and didn't seem to notice she was filling my head with more than I needed to know. I'm not very good at them, but I know at least some Latin and Greek, and Spanish and French. And I'm hardly _virginalis _anymore; '_tui gladium' illi gratias ago_."

He grinned impishly at her.

"Well?"

"Well what?" He gestured for her to climb the steep grade in front of him. She was having trouble dealing with her soreness and the incline of the ground together, he could tell, and he'd have a better chance at catching her if she were to slip if he was behind her.

Gwen checked the compass again as she moved past him, making sure they were holding to the right direction.

"I told you how a woman managed an education, now you tell me how a rogue scoundrel managed it," she answered him, hoping for a rare glimpse into his mysterious background.

"You forget, luv," he admonished. "I'm _Captain Jack Sparrow_, savvy?"

She rolled her eyes. "You're just Jack to me. And that's enough." Her tone was exasperated, as though the "Captain" and the "Sparrow" would add far too much trouble to the already-unruly "Jack."

Jack cast about for something to say to that, but finally just silently let her comment slide by, trying to ignore the odd but not unpleasant way his stomach lurched at her sardonic declaration.

Their straight-line path through the close wilderness of the island eventually gave way to a meandering route as they picked their way through increasingly dense undergrowth and crowded trees. Jack drew his sword often to slash through knots of creeping plants. And then it slowly gave way once again to an easier trail as the ground became rockier, the trees farther apart, the tangling vines and flora more sparse, and the grade less severe as they neared the upper portions of the crag.

After nearly three-quarters of an hour of hiking, Gwen noticed something out of place ahead.

"Jack."

Only a few steps behind her, he appeared at her side quickly.

"Up there," she pointed through the trees ahead. "Is that-"

"That's odd," he observed distractedly, immediately and noticeably switching into a different mode of thought and action as he struck out ahead.

Gwen followed in his wake, noticing the way his hands floated solicitously around the weapons bristling at his waist, rather than swinging casually at his sides. She increased her pace, trying to keep up with him.

The huddled and overgrown wooden structure directly ahead of them resolved gradually into a rough-hewn little cottage of sorts as they drew closer to it. It had apparently been there for quite some time, judging by the amount of foliage growing over and around it. About twenty yards from the door, Jack suddenly stopped, and Gwen put out her hands as fenders at his back as she skidded to halt behind him.

"What-"

"Somebody's home," Jack said in a low voice.

Gwen furrowed her brow at him and turned to peer at the deserted cabin again. In the same instant, she saw the door begin to swing open, then Jack pushed her behind him, squaring his body toward the threat as a shield, and she heard the flintlock of his pistol click as he brandished the weapon.

* * *

Latin Crash-Course for this Chapter:

_Mei gladium (MAY-ee GLAH-dee-oom)_- Literally, "my sword." In Roman, male-dominated, martial culture, _gladius _was also a metaphorical term for the phallus.

_Solum virgo (SO-lum WEER-go)_- "Only a young woman." More often than not, _virgo_ refers specifically to young women who are maidens, or virgins, as Gwen takes it.

_Virginalis (weer-jin-NAL-ees)_- This is simple. "Virginal." Innocent, if you will.

_'Tui gladium' illi gratias ago (TOO-ee GLAH-dee-oom il-lee GRAH-tee-ahs AH-go)_- "I can thank 'your sword' for that."


	17. So Where Be the Treasure, Mate?

_**Disclaimer:**__ And Disney claimed what belonged to Disney, and poor ol' Delfe was left with naught but Gwen and a few other coarse bits._

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**Chapter 17: So Where Be the Treasure, Mate?**

Deep, ringing laughter filled the air. "I take it that whatever it is you were expecting to find here, I'm not it. Come on inside, lad, and the lady there as well. And put away your weapon. I'm scarcely a threat to you."

Jack's posture didn't relax any, but upon hearing the man's clear voice and jovial tone, Gwen stepped out from behind her protector to get a better look at their eager host.

A peculiar old man, bearded but bald, stood in the doorway of his small, coarsely-built home, beckoning them forward.

"I've not had visitors in ages," the man was saying, as though oblivious to the fact that his "visitors" still weren't coming any closer to his house. "Not since… oh, I can't keep track of time so well now. Forget to mark off the days sometimes, and then where do I get? Behind, off-track, that's what I get."

He waved his arm in a broad summons over his head as he turned to go back inside. "Come on, come on in!" he urged as he disappeared inside.

Jack glanced down at Gwen then, as she stepped forward to stand beside him. He silently released the flintlock and lowered his gun to his side, though he kept it in hand. His stance altered just perceptibly as he regained his casual demeanor and tried to pretend he hadn't just reflexively tried to shelter her from possible danger.

Gwen. Which reminded him... During the survey he and his crew had made of the island the night before, he had thought he caught sight of a dim light deep in the trees at just the part of the island they were now standing at. At the time, his mind had been admittedly somewhat preoccupied with other thoughts, and when the light had winked out of its own accord, whether it had been snuffed out or simply blocked from view, it had been enough for him simply that it wasn't there anymore and he hadn't worried about it. He had forgotten about it, actually.

Now, not for the first time, he silently cursed Gwen for something he perceived to be somehow her fault- this time, his overlooking a hint that someone might be living on the island. He didn't bother to consider whether or not he actually would have surmised the truth of it even if he had been thinking clearly. Irrelevant. Still her fault.

Gwen started to move past him toward the house. Jack pulled the corners of his mouth into a frown and followed, his pistol still in his hand.

Gwen had scarcely stepped into the doorway before the man urged, "Come in, come in. You probably want to know about me as much as I want to know about you. Come now," he insisted, waving them in enthusiastically.

The inside of the house was surprisingly well-furnished for a shack in the middle of a forested, lonely island. A blockish trunk and a chest of drawers hugged against the wall to the left, and against the opposite wall was a bed of sorts, more accurately a heap of cushions and blankets. A stocky table and a single chair stood in the center of the room. Gwen wondered for a moment at the furnishings, but then realized that the white sheets on the bed looked suspiciously like ship's sails.

The old man himself wore a curious, coarsely-made white shirt as well as trousers which seemed to have similar dubious origins, somewhat stained and worn at the knees, but still very white nonetheless. Beneath his snowy-hued garb, his feet were bare. He smiled warmly but excitedly at his guests, the welcoming expression somehow emphasized by the silver-shot white beard decking his chin. Gwen thought vaguely of how people had "entertained angels unawares," and wondered if perhaps angels sometimes entertained their unsuspecting subjects themselves.

"Miss," the man said kindly, indicating that she should take his chair while he and Jack stood.

Gwen took the seat, deciding it was best not to argue, since she wanted to observe before reacting, as she tended to do in new situations. She silently crushed her admittedly naïve comparisons of the man to an angelic being. He and his possessions were apparently all merely salvaged from some ship, right down to the sails in which he was clad, and it was all nothing more special than that.

"Whose colors do you sail under? I didn't see your ship, but perhaps you've anchored somewhere on the lower end of the island? I was in the garden a couple of hours ago, and there was nothing in the sea there. I looked, I always look. Bit of a habit, I suppose, one doesn't notice one does it. I would have noticed a ship, though, I'm sure. Imagine that. What's brought you here, though, I wonder? Not lost, are you?"

The man paused then, finally, and began to laugh again, the same deep bell-tones of before.

"Listen to me. Although I suppose you cannot do anything _but_ listen to me. Finally have someone to speak back and then don't give them the chance to try."

He fell silent again, still grinning expectantly.

"I sail under me own colors," Jack answered unabashedly but didn't respond to any of the man's other comments or questions.

"Ah," the old man said, his tone an almost comic mix of gravity and enlightenment. "I did, once. It's been some time, some time. Had my own lovely ship too. There she sits, you see?"

Jack only frowned and furrowed his brow. People tended to blame all of his own idiosyncrasies on his time spent on an island alone himself (which particular version of the tale each individual tended to believe was irrelevant to this claim). On "his" island, he most certainly would have starved, as scarce as the resources were there. The rum could only last so long. For him, _not_ so long. But this chattering man represented a somewhat disturbing alternate outcome. He was clearly mad. Jack willingly claimed both insanity and genius. But never one without the other. He only stared, fascinated, at the man.

"_There_," the man said at Jack's expression, pointing more clearly and vehemently, and then stepping over to smack his hand down on the table. "All that's left of her. Here. And there," he waved toward his chest of drawers and his trunk. "And my home. She still serves me well, bless her timbers. Ah, I've forgotten to let you speak again. Your names, that's what I had intended to ask before I lost myself, Mr…"

"Sparrow," Jack said, immediately adding, "_Captain_ Jack Sparrow."

"And your wife?" The man turned his benevolent gaze on her.

"No," Jack answered for her abruptly. "That's Gwen. She's none of mine though, merely an… associate."

Gwen managed a polite smile for the man at Jack's curt introduction, but she was unaccountably stung by his refusal to claim her. She suddenly wanted to assure the old man that her involvement with Jack was purely innocent and perfectly appropriate, but she held her tongue, knowing how unpolished she looked in her braids and how the situation must seem. Heavens, how the situation _was_.

She bit her lower lip, forcing down those doubts. She held her head higher, allowing a mischievous glint to appear in her eyes, determined to stop allowing herself to forget about her decisions. Her conscience would just have to get used to them.

But neither of the two men seemed to notice her silent struggle with herself, or her change in posture.

"Jacobs," the man was saying. "They used to call me Black Bill many years ago."

Gwen let a little gasp inadvertently and looked toward Jack automatically. He didn't seem quite as shocked as she was. Rather, he had an oddly grim expression in his eyes.

"And you're not dead," Jack stated quietly, as though he didn't realize he was merely pointing out the obvious. He ran his hand over his scruffy jaw thoughtfully. "That's interesting."

"So you _have_ heard of me, then. Did you come looking for me? Why so long, anyway?"

"I've heard of ye," Jack said slowly. "There are tales of the fate of Black Bill Jacobs and his graceful _Neptune's Lady_." He paused to survey the man and his home again- the white-bearded, white-clad "Black Bill" and the clumsy, crudely-built walls and furniture made from the scavenged remains from his own ship.

Jacobs took advantage of the pause, prattling on into the lapse. Clearly, he was accustomed to talking to himself nonstop.

"They tell tales? What exactly do they tell? I never really credited bar-legends too much. Used to spin a yarn wilder than a pair of Amazons myself. Did-"

"There are tales," Jack interrupted, "of a cursed treasure." Seeing he had Jacobs' attention, he relaxed his posture, taking his time before he went on. He raised the hand which still gripped his gun, as though just remembering he was holding the weapon. Caressing it idly, he picked up where he had left off, deliberately drawing out his syllables, "A curse which killed off his crew, and drove ol' Black Bill off in fear to secrete the hoard with its black sorcery before it claimed any more lives. Black Bill-" Jack inspected his fingernails casually- "was seen last in Tortuga forty years ago, leaving out in 'is ship alone. Never seen or heard from again. Most assumed that the curse claimed him."

Jacobs didn't immediately spring in with something to say now. He looked thoughtful. "Ah, yes, the curse," he said slowly after a long moment. "The treasure. Yes, the cursed treasure."

Jack eyed him doubtfully, but he didn't seem to notice.

"How did you discover the truth, to come back for me?"

Jack grinned almost maliciously as he ambled over to the table and perched on the edge of it. Gwen purposefully averted her gaze from his bum, which was now directly in front of her.

"I _didn't_ come back for ye, mate," Jack told Jacobs bluntly. "I come for the treasure, cursed or no. And as for you… I can't say it's a truth that ye _are_ who you say ye be."

"There is no treasure. It's gone," Jacobs insisted quickly. "Rid myself of it before it consumed me too. Rid myself of the greed, too, that drives you to take whatever you want. You know it well, I know you do. It's all gone. I assure you, I _am_ ol' 'Black Bill' Jacobs himself, here in the flesh, perfectly alive. But you see, I'm an honest man now, scratched my own life out for years here under the sun. I've got the garden and I fish-"

"What did you do with the treasure?" Jack interrupted again.

"It was lost to Davy Jones' Locker along with most of the remains the _Lady_, bless her," Jacobs answered after another brief pause. "With just myself, I couldn't manage her against the winds and she gave. I was lucky to find myself and parts of my ship washed ashore here."

Jack casually glanced around the hut then. "I suppose," he said offhandedly after a moment, "we can leave now, aye, Gwen?"

She raised her gaze from watching his dangling beard-braids to meet his eyes. "I-"

"You'll not leave me here," Jacobs exclaimed, the imperative sounding more like a plea. "I might still remember my way around a ship. It's been many years, but not too long to forget. The sea's in the heart. I can serve the ship for my keep."

"I was going to suggest the very thing," Jack replied obligingly, though Gwen wasn't sure Jack was going to do any such thing. "Take whatever ye want with ye." He gestured around the little house, an expression on his face which said clearly that he didn't expect an exaggerated packing process.

Gwen had to tear her gaze away from Jack's posterior, wondering why she couldn't seem to find anything else to stare at. This time she dropped her eyes to her lap. It was then that she remembered the compass, when she realized she had been clutching it against her palm, with her other hand wrapped around it.

Jacobs hesitated, looking as though there might be some article or scrap of his life there that he wanted to fetch to take with him if he could remember where it was, but at last, he shook his head. "I've got nothing," he said blandly, but his endless stream of nattering quickly resurfaced as the frown-lines disappeared from his bald pate. "We can go immediately, really. Back to your ship, then? What is she called?"

Jack sighed, not sure whether he preferred the oddities of the long-winded Jacobs over the more silent, morose Jacobs. He slid off the table and began to leave with the older man. Jacobs threw a last glance around his home, but left without complaint.

"Gwen, luv," Jack called simply as he followed Jacobs through the doorway.

Gwen didn't acknowledge that she realized they were departing. She stood, but didn't move toward the door. The compass wasn't pointing at Jacobs, as she assumed it must have been. He was outside in front of the house, but the needle was pointing toward the left wall. Gwen crossed to the chest of drawers and dragged open the top drawer. Inside rested several tools and utensils of various sorts, many of them crudely fashioned of bits of stick and twig and scarcely identifiable as to their purpose. In the back right corner, though, her gaze alighted on an insignificant little scrap of paper. Intrigued, she picked it up.

The compass, held flat in her other hand, immediately spun off to point at some new direction of interest. Gwen dropped the slip of paper onto the top of the bureau, and the compass spun about to point directly at it. She experimented once more, quickly, dropping the bit on the opposite corner of the bureau's surface. The compass still pointed at it.

Gwen inspected the slip of paper as she went toward the door. It contained only a few lines in a scrawled, cramped handwriting. She didn't have time to consider it further, however, as she quickly tucked it away before she stepped outside.

Jack was immediately outside and had apparently been coming back in to get her. He caught her just shy of actually colliding with him.

"What took ye, lass?" he said, sounding just a touch irritated. No doubt he probably was indeed somewhat upset with her over the way this trip was turning out nothing like he had expected or hoped.

"I was just thinking," Gwen said, not entirely truthfully. She'd actually caught nearly every word said inside the house, even if she didn't know the legends about Jacobs and his treasure well enough for all of them to make sense to her. And obviously, she _hadn't_ been "just thinking" specifically then either. But Jack accepted the excuse of her being lost in thought easily enough and released her.

"Here's your compass, Jack," Gwen said then, holding it up for him.

"I had a compass like that once," Jacobs said, startling Gwen just a bit. Wherever he had been moments earlier she hadn't noticed him, but he appeared beside them then. "May I?"

He didn't wait for a response before picking up the compass.

Jack and Gwen exchanged a look as Jacobs weighed the compass in one hand and then bent over it, scrutinizing it, jabbering stray facts at them about the compass he had had once had. Suddenly he looked up at them.

"Where did you get this?"

Jack snatched it back from him, not answering the question.

"That compass was once mine," Jacobs went on, pointing to a tiny scratched inscription on its side.

Jack didn't have to look. He knew well what was there. The letters _W _and _J_ had been etched into the case of the compass, had been there ever since he'd first laid claim to it. _William Jacobs._ Black Bill Jacobs.

Cursed treasure. Cursed compass. Babbling old man. Jack narrowed his eyes at the man, frowning deeply. There was something more going on here. He glanced over at Gwen. Something very strange. And he would get to the bottom of it.


	18. Hands

_**Disclaimer:**__ I own nothing worthwhile. No suing me._

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**Chapter 18: Hands**

Jack shoved his compass down into his sash alongside his gun. "Mine now," he said gruffly, and started tramping off back down the slope, without another word, toward the distant beach where their shore-boat waited.

"But where did you get it?" Jacobs asked, hurrying off at his heels. "I lost it during a raid. Good raid, that one was. Good compass. Never led me wrong. Led me astray, but didn't ever lead me wrong…Heh heh heh"

Gwen hung back until the sound of his voice, carrying forward with his incessant rambling, wasn't impinging on her thoughts so forcefully. Then she trailed along behind the men, close enough to easily rejoin them with a few long strides, but far enough behind to create a bubble of privacy for herself. When she was sure they weren't paying her any attention, she dug out the slip of paper she'd stolen from inside the cabin.

She actually felt a little rush at just _taking_ the bit of paper with its handwritten message, but she didn't want to find out that her first criminal efforts had produced nothing worthwhile. However, if it perhaps told something about the curse, or-

Gwen nearly walked into Jack, but once again, he had put out his hands to catch her before she collided with him. She looked up at him guiltily, thrusting her hand- with the purloined paper- behind her back. Jacobs stood silently to the side, looking up into the trees as though he had momentarily been turned "off."

"Do _not_," Jack reprimanded in a gravelly tone, "fall behind." His expression was far sterner than Gwen felt was necessary for his words, and she only stared back at him, perplexed as to why it should matter so much if she just walked behind them a few paces.

Jack gripped her hand awkwardly, his long fingers clasping roughly around the lower joints of her thumb and the upper parts of her wrist. He began walking again, dragging her along, ignoring the bewildered look she was giving him. Jacobs resumed his one-sided conversation as soon as they began moving again, as though there were some mechanism that joined the function of his limbs and his lips.

Jack tuned out the rambling, seriously considering cutting the man's tongue out. He briefly wondered what had warranted Mr. Cotton receiving that very punishment before he'd joined Jack's crew, back when Jack had briefly captained the _Interceptor_.

Gwen's hand fidgeted within his grasp, and he glanced over at her just in time to catch her other hand floating away from the low-cut neck of her dress. Unabashedly, he studied her chest, looking for any signs that she'd tucked something away down between her breasts, as he'd seen women do before. He was sidelined in his impartial inspection as he remembered her naked and grinned in spite of himself. He looked up at her then and met her eyes.

The little wench didn't seem to care at all that he had been staring at her as he had. She simply smiled back at him, a seductive charm touching the curve of her lip and the glint in her eye. He looked away, scowling deeply and trying to suppress his thoughts before they turned erotic. Now was hardly the time for such things.

"Wouldn't you say?" Jacobs said, more loudly than he had been speaking before.

Jack smiled crookedly at the irony. He hadn't caught the man's actual intended question because he'd been lost in his own thoughts. Much like Gwen tended to do. "Why not?" he answered obligingly, not at all sure of what he was agreeing to.

"That's what I always thought," Jacobs went on, apparently content with the vague response. "Can't imagine much else that…"

Gwen had fallen a bit behind him, so Jack casually tugged her forward, putting her between himself and the old man again. Jacobs didn't seem to notice he was purposely trying to put up a barrier between them. If that barrier happened to be Gwen, so be it.

Gwen sighed quizzically. She felt better, the soreness finally seeming to melt away from the morning's novel activity. Jack glanced across at her to see what had caused her to make such a sound, but she didn't acknowledge him.

Jack mentally shrugged the concern away, turning his mind instead to the matter of his severe lack of treasure. A nutty old man, at least seventy years old by Jack's estimate, was hardly something respectable to show for a venture after riches.

Of course, on the other hand, Jacobs _was_ a very intriguing find. Besides the fact that the man was supposed to be dead, Jack couldn't just ignore the fact that Gwen- or at least his own compass, with her help- had either led or been drawn to the island and their unscheduled rescue of the long-exiled ex-pirate. There was something going on that he couldn't quite piece together yet. Something unnatural and mystical. He was now convinced, more than ever, that it was no coincidence that Jacobs' was the only pirate tale Gwen knew.

His compass was certainly suspect in the matter. As long as he'd had it, he'd rarely known it to act _normally_.

Old Jacobs, despite his near-constant rambling, seemed innocuous enough. His circumstances, though, were unusual enough to merit suspicion. If what he had related was true, he was the sole survivor of a curse that had claimed his crew and a storm that had claimed his ship. And the fact that Jack's compass had at some point belonged to him was of particular interest. Jack wondered briefly at Jacobs' dealings with the supernatural. Cursed compass, cursed treasure… He wondered, too, if Jacobs had owned the compass _before_ or _after_ it had been enchanted.

And on the _other_ hand, where Gwen tied in to all this… on the… on the other hand…

Jack glanced down at their hands. He'd grabbed her wrist and had been towing her along after him for a while. But Gwen had apparently been fidgeting and slowly sliding her hand within his grasp. Now, their hands were clasped palm-to-palm. And just then, as Gwen found her footing on an awkward drop in the terrain, her fingers laced through his and her grip tightened reflexively as she used him to help balance herself.

Jack almost flinched away, almost freed his hand from hers and left her to hike along unaided. He thought that he knew, and had experienced, _everything_ when it came to sensual relations with a woman, but somehow the idea of strolling along holding hands with his lover made him uneasy. Uneasy in the same half-excited, half-embarrassed way he had felt when he had first begun to realize how thrilling intimacy with the opposite sex could be, back in his youth.

He thought he saw, out of the corner of his eye, Gwen studying his reaction to this, but when he turned slightly to look at her, she was looking at something Jacobs was pointing toward. She nodded sagely at whatever the man was expounding upon, though her gaze did flick toward Jack once and back again immediately.

Jack frowned, pursing his lips and wrinkling his brow, as he looked down at their clasped hands again.

Her skin was still quite pale compared to the sun-browned, sea-smiling faces he was most accustomed to. Compared to his own tanned complexion and unwashed griminess. Her hand was small, her thin fingers not exceptionally long or short. It felt odd and uncomfortably dainty to him- despite his knowledge to the contrary, that she was hardly a delicate little flower- clutched in his own hand. Which suddenly felt very large and dirty and rough.

He could handle- and could do so quite willingly- a woman's hands gliding all over his body, stroking, petting, tickling, grasping, caressing, kneading. Then why should he feel so… well, why should he be affected any differently just because that little hand touched him differently than how he was necessarily accustomed?

His hand was clammy. But he realized hers was as well. Palms pressed together, fingers interwoven.

It really wasn't terribly exciting. Rather dull, in fact, if he thought about it.

Still, he couldn't help feeling somehow peculiarly… stimulated. As though as his sense of touch had been heightened, his sense of masculinity stoked, his sense of his own strength bolstered, and his mood lightened, despite his dubiousness about the hand-holding. And there was a sudden twinge in his gut that simultaneously had absolutely nothing and yet everything to do with his libido. He felt seconds away from fighting down a hard-on. Oddly, he also felt that arousal remaining always just a few seconds away but never quite taking hold, leaving him tingling with something he couldn't exactly define.

He almost released her hand again, deliberately peeling his fingers away from her skin. But he only readjusted his grasp. And then reassured himself he simply wanted to make sure she didn't fall, and he needed to retain a grip on her to ensure this. She was, after all, a bit unsteady even yet, every time she had to take a longer step or hop down from a rock, because of her stretched nether muscles. Because of the little romp they'd started the day with.

And there it was. Jack sighed to himself and glanced down his body, wondering how noticeable it was. No mug of water this time. He wondered if he could contrive accidentally falling into the cool sea-water when they arrived at the beach…

Jacobs' chatter eventually slackened and dissolved into a broken commentary, as his initial babbling 'someone-to-finally-talk-to' complex wore off. He pointed out various subtle landmarks, sharing such trivial details as where he'd stubbed his toe, and where he had once slept every night for a month because of the particularly intriguing way the moonlight shone through the tree-branches, and where he liked to dig up fresh soil to transfer to supplement his garden's fertility, but for the most part grew more tolerably quiet.

Traveling down the mountain seemed to go faster than plodding up it, and they soon passed through the last copse of trees and onto the original strip of beach they'd started from.

"Lovely place, this," Jacobs offered as they stepped from the shadow of the trees into the sunlight. "Better to be higher up the island during a storm, but…" He trailed off as he noticed the _Black Pearl_ waiting about a half of a league off-shore.

"As a lovely as any lady that ever sailed the Seven Seas…" he observed then, his voice suddenly nothing more than an awestruck whisper. "I'd forgotten what a sight it is to behold a ship. Or to…" He trailed off, and then fell silent and remained that way, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on the _Pearl_, as they dragged the shore-boat down into the water, and as Jack rowed them back out to his beloved ship.

The crew, and Elizabeth and Will, did nothing to hide their surprise at the old man, looking very much like a misplaced prophet stepping into midst of them. From the moment he had been spotted emerging from the trees of the island with Gwen and Jack, he had been pinned with numerous open stares, and from the instant the old man's dirty bare feet touched the deck of the ship, he was bombarded by questions, as was Jack. Elizabeth and some of the more frequent card-players began demanding explanations from Gwen as well.

She couldn't say she blamed them. So far, she knew everything that was to be known about how they had found the old man, and why he was on the island, and how he had understandably been eager to not be left behind when there was a ship to take him away at long last. And yet, she was still at a loss for all of the mystical details of that tale and couldn't begin to explain it all in a way that would make sense.

Jack only explained that here was "Black Bill" Jacobs, as alive as though death had never crossed him, and that the old man had asked to be considered for entry into the crew. Jack didn't mention that Gwen wanted to join as well. It seemed bad timing. The captain ducked away into his cabin, though, before one of the tactless younger fellows could begin to badger him about treasure and ask whether or not they were to believe they had come out so far only to rescue a has-been, legend or no.

He needed some time to think, and some rum. With both of those needs fulfilled, he felt sure he could sort out the truth of this whole situation. And determine if there was yet any profit to be had.

* * *

"I'll see that," Gwen said, "and raise another five."

Cannon Tom glanced down at his cards and seemed to pause for a moment to consider. "Fold," he said after a second, slapping his cards face-down on the table and leaning back in resignation.

All eyes shifted to the only other player remaining against Gwen now, the new-comer to the table, Bill Jacobs. He wouldn't suffer them to call him "Black Bill," because he claimed it didn't suit him anymore. Everyone was inclined to agree with that statement. His demeanor and manners and even his clear accent betrayed nothing of the pirate he had once been. And if appearances were to play into the awarding of nicknames, the old man would have to be called "White Bill," besides.

Jacobs hunched forward, elbows on the edge of the table, studying his cards as carefully as though he feared they might change number or suit at any moment.

"Duly met," he answered suddenly, sliding coins across the table to meet Gwen's challenge. "And another twenty as well."

Others' eyes widened at the challenge while Gwen frowned and looked again at her own cards, as though they might be able to tell her whether the old man was bluffing or whether he might actually have a hand to rival her own usual luck. The three Jacks in her hand stared blankly back at her- the Jack of Hearts was the only one absent- nestled between a pair of twos. A fair enough hand- a full house- in any game. But with deuces wild, those twos gave her five of a kind.

She maintained her tight control over her own facial expressions and raised her eyes, lidded suspiciously, to study Jacobs' mask. The man only smiled benignly, looking as though he might at any moment offer her a cup of tea or comment on the weather, as though he were not still sitting in the final bets of an hour long round of poker.

He'd had some dumb-luck fair hands in earlier matches that afternoon, but by and large, it _was_ true that he hadn't played cards in literally decades. He'd had to be reminded of the pecking order of the possible hands before he could join in a game at the beginning, as well.

Gwen felt more confident remembering this, and drew more security from the strength of her own hand as she glanced at it one last time. The five Jacks were as good as gold in her hand, the three real ones and the two frauds. She eyed her remaining coins, and separated them into two stacks of equal value.

"Seen and doubled." She slid the last of her riches forward, forty shillings' worth.

"I call," Jacobs responded immediately, taking no time to deliberate, quickly counting out his own forty to meet her bet.

Gwen waited for a moment to allow the anticipation build a bit more, then laid her cards flat onto the table with a smart _clip _sound.

"Five of a kind," she pointed out unnecessarily.

Jacobs grinned munificently and set his own cards down for all to see. They were clustered close, each on top of another. Jacobs separated them with a bony finger. There were three- no, four Kings. And a two. A wild two. Another King.

"Five of a slightly higher kind," Jacobs said cheerfully.

"You seem to have a lot of luck, especially for one who hasn't played in so long," Gwen blurted out. As soon as she said it, she was aware that she sounded just as accusing as some of the men had been at her own lucky hands when they'd first taught her to play.

"What is luck, anyway, other than being at the right place at the right time, or simply a happy mix of circumstances that work out in favor of what you want?" Jacobs winked, but his tone was a little less jovial than it had been before as he half-heartedly defended himself from her envious indictment.

Gwen being the last to lose her pot, Jacobs had no challengers left, so the game was over. Without complaint, he was sliding his winnings across the table to the dealer, who had pulled out his record-paper from the first of the game and was already beginning to re-sort the coins into designated stacks to reimburse all of the players with what they had started the game with, in keeping with their policy of not gambling with intent to keep money won from shipmates.

"Luck is only _half_ circumstance," Gwen insisted, sore at losing. "And the other half is skill."

Jacobs only stared back at her for a moment. "Aye," he said pensively, his tired, old, brown eyes locked on hers. There was a dark depth to them Gwen couldn't begin to explain, but she could understand it, on some level. "That it is," he murmured.

But his face instantly brightened as he noted something past Gwen. She turned to look behind her and noted the cook leaving the galley with his tray of food intended for the captain's cabin. As soon as he returned, the crew would be welcome to begin their own meal.

"After all those years eating my own vegetable stews," Jacobs said, who had already eaten lunch aboard the ship, "these meals are like mother's milk."

Gwen smiled at him, her silly jealousy at his winning forgotten. It was, after all, just a game. She and her crewmen chums played nearly every day, winning and losing to each other (although she was admittedly more used to winning than losing) and forgiving as soon as the cards and coins had been taken up again. It was part of the process.

Gwen took leave of the men, exchanging the expected light-hearted challenges and good-natured insults with a few of them, and made her way out of the galley toward the stairs and hatch leading above deck.

_Like mother's milk…_ She suddenly felt very odd at the thought of her own mother. Not guilty, exactly. She couldn't seem to find much guilt left for her actions at all. Everything was too enjoyable to feel guilty about. The sea, the sailing, the freedom. Bonding with the crew. Her more recent, more intimate bonding with Jack…

But what would her mother have thought of her, honestly? She'd told Gwen that the Caribbean was no place for a lady. Gwen had always insisted, in childish persistence, that she could be a Caribbean lady if she wanted to, always using the fact of her grandmother's originating from this part of the world as an argument.

Well, she'd betrayed both of those maternal women, hadn't she? Here she was in the Caribbean, true enough, but she was no lady. Not anymore. She was a common pirate's wench, sharing a bed with a scallywag.

_I'm sorry I'm not what you would want, but I'm happy, Mother_, she thought silently, reaching reflexively for her old silver locket, which she'd nearly forgotten about.

Two realizations struck her in rapid succession.

Happy? She hadn't really thought of it that way before, but now that the thought was proposed to herself… Well, she couldn't call herself anything else. Happy.

But then that sentiment was quickly forgotten and replaced with a defeating feeling of loss. Her locket wasn't there. Her seeking hand met only the unadorned skin of her neck. She cast about, trying to remember the last time she'd had it.

Had she had it before they had found Jacobs…?


	19. Dishonesty and Suspicion

_**Disclaimer:**__ The Mouse owns lots, I own little. Also, there is an allusion here to Star Trek: TOS. That belongs in spirit to Roddenberry and to whoever is in charge of Star Trek stuff these days._

**For the Readers' Consideration**… a few quotes from _Pirates of the Caribbean_, spoken either _by_ or _about_ Captain Jack Sparrow:

_"Me? I'm dishonest. And a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest. Honestly. It's the honest ones you want to watch out for, because you can never predict when they're going to do something incredibly… stupid."_ Jack then proceeds to do something either expectably dishonest or honestly stupid, depending on how you look at it, in freeing Will and starting a fight with Barbossa. …._"Me? I'm dishonest."_ …

_"She's safe, just like I promised… So we're all men of our word, really…"_

_"I think he's telling the truth…"_

_"Of the two of us, I'm the only one who hasn't committed mutiny. So it's _my_ word we'll be trusting." _Although Jack scarcely intends to fulfill his end of the bargain anyway in shouting the name back to Barbossa…

So which is he? Honest or dishonest?

* * *

**Chapter 19: Dishonesty and Suspicion**

Jack had fully intended to take Gwen back to the island that night and renew their search without Jacobs along to sidetrack them. But now Jack was beginning to question Gwen's motives. Something about her didn't set right in his mind, was troubling him.

When the lass had first pieced together, while they were sitting in the Turners' parlor, that her family had conspired against her and that her own fortune was basically forfeit to their greed, she had seemed appropriately shocked.

But now that he thought about it, she had never been even close to being hysterical. Hadn't shown any of the overt signs of devastation he should have expected from a young well-bred lady upon discovering her life and her future were in ruins.

There was no denying that she had come with him far too willingly after that. And while, at the time, it had seemed she didn't really realize her part in bring him to this particular island- considering recent developments, he couldn't quite let himself believe that to be entirely coincidental.

Above and beyond that, she had consciously and purposefully advanced to a physical relationship with him far faster than he would have done. In fact, he had not actually had any original _intentions_ of violating her in any way at all, despite that first kiss he had stolen. Lapse of judgment and impulse control was all.

Jack knew perfectly well that, despite all appearances, Gwen could not possibly be interested in abandoning her noble virtues solely for the fun of doing it, as he had allowed himself to believe she had. Considering the high class she had come from, he should have realized before now that something was amiss in her behavior. He was a pirate, an errant ne'er-do-well with morals of doubtful worth and a propensity for drinking and singing rowdy songs. It hardly made sense for her to go willingly into the unsanctified arms of a scoundrel like himself.

That is, it made no sense unless she had some darker motive. And _that_ was precisely what was troubling him the most. It was easy enough for him to accept that someone would try to deceive him. In the sort of life he lived, it was to be expected. Had happened plenty of times. Some more hurtfully than others. Well, he wouldn't think about that.

Anyway, the fact that it seemed Gwen was a culprit of deception made no difference. But he couldn't fathom what it was she wanted, what she was trying to use him to get to. Or where Jacobs figured into all of this. How was Jacobs still alive, what had really happened to the ship and crew, what did Gwen know about it and why, and how did the compass fit in? Perhaps there was something about the treasure that hadn't made it into legend. Something that perhaps Gwen, mysteriously, knew about and wasn't telling him. The same way that there was something mystical about her that, amongst other things, made his compass behave so eccentrically…

The door to his cabin opened, and Jack barely glanced at Gwen when she entered his cabin, one hand pressed to her collarbone, her eyes shadowed and shifty.

She was trying to recount when she had last seen her locket. She knew she had had it when she first came aboard the _Pearl_ a few weeks ago. Jack had pointedly inspected it then.

But she'd also had it later. She distinctly remembered toying with it in those long hours when she had been locked in the brig on that first day. So he hadn't stolen it, at least not then.

She tried to remember whether or not she'd had it in Port Royal, but couldn't seem to bring the memories into cohesiveness.

Gwen frowned, putting away her wandering thoughts for a moment and focusing on Jack.

He was leaning back in his chair, his booted feet resting irreverently up on his desk. In one hand he held a tankard of rum, which he was staring into, or perhaps staring _through_, with a dubious but hopeful expression, as though he expected for some sought-for answer or solution to present itself momentarily if he just contemplated long enough. His other hand toyed with his compass, flipping it open and then closed again with a smart _clap_, and then open and shut, and open...

"What is it?" Gwen asked, coming out of her reverie enough to notice that looked just as pensive as she was.

Jack's eyes shifted slowly to her, as though it were a more difficult task than it really was.

"What's what, luv?" he asked blandly, tilting his head back to meet her gaze more evenly.

Gwen perched on the edge of the table.

"Why so pensive?" she asked. "What are you trying to sort out?"

"There's treasure out there somewhere," Jack said, careful not to drop hints of what he had really been considering or that he was onto her deception.

"Under how much water? You honestly think you can retrieve it, even if you could find it?"

"Ye're a fine one to try to discourage me, aren't ye?" Jack grinned lopsidedly. "Unless you've got a coin-purse with quite a lot of gold hidden somewhere under that dress-" here he paused to rake his gaze licentiously down her body- "which I doubt… then I would think it would be in your best interest to _help_ me find that blasted treasure hoard. You owe me."

Gwen pursed her lips at his reminder of the silly ransom. "I hardly think I owe you anything, Sir Pirate, since I've got no family to be returned to and since you haven't quite done your duty in preserving my innocence."

Jack started to protest to her teasing, but she cut him off.

"Besides which… Bill told us it sank. It could be anywhere around this entire island. And unless you know a mermaid, or can convince some of your old sea-turtle friends to help you, I'm anxious to see how you're going to manage raising it from the sea-floor."

She had obviously been talking to Gibbs, hearing some of the older man's tellings of the legends of Captain Jack Sparrow. But Jack hardly noted this.

"'Bill,' is it?" he asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Jacobs," she clarified, as though she thought perhaps he had forgotten the name of their unexpected guest. "Oh, come on, Jack," she said when his expression didn't change any, "it doesn't mean that I'm… well, he's old enough to be my grandfather!"

Jack raised his hands, surrendering the point to her. He _had _implied that she might be becoming overly familiar with the old man, but he certainly didn't mean it _that_ way. He made a face at the thought, but she continued without commenting on it.

"He played several hands with us this afternoon."

"Oh? And how did he fare?" Jack asked, sounding casually indulgent, but truly waiting to see if she might slip and accidentally reveal some clue as to what she really knew about Jacobs and what her plans might be.

"He won," Gwen said simply.

"I thought _you_ were the resident champion," he observed.

Gwen merely stared at him for a moment, intrigued, though not necessarily surprised, that he somehow kept track of the gaming below decks. "I just get lucky," she shrugged, glad that Jack hadn't just heard her complaining about Jacobs' luck being greater than hers. When he didn't respond, she went on, "In the last round I had five Jacks, but it wasn't enough."

"Five?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow. He restrained himself from suggesting to her that one Jack was often more than enough.

"Don't look at me like that. I didn't cheat," Gwen insisted.

"I never said ye did," Jack answered, though he was intrigued by her defending herself so quickly.

"Deuces were wild, and I landed a pair of them. But Bill had five kings. No one else was left to challenge him, so he won. And it was also time for the evening meal," she finished, helping herself to the offerings of the nightly food tray.

After a moment Gwen piped up again, sounding more helpful, "What are you intending to do about getting your treasure, then?"

"It's not underwater," Jack said. He kept a sharp eye on her to see if any of his suspicions, as he shared them, solicited any unwarranted reaction from her. "I think it's somewhere on that island. Jacobs wanted to go back for something before we left-" the way that Gwen impulsively bit her lower lip at this wasn't lost on Jack- "and I think it had something to do with his hoard." So there _was_ something she was hiding from him.

Gwen wondered why she hadn't told Jack about the little slip of paper with its scrawled writing. She'd completely forgotten about it during the day due to all the excitement of the castaway being brought aboard the ship. She wondered if she should tell him now, but for some reason, she found herself remaining silent.

Jack let his feet fall to the floor and set his half-drunk rum down on his desk. Flipping open his compass as he stood, he took Gwen's hand and turned it palm-up. Gwen immediately regretted keeping the note secret from him as the compass-needle spun around to point… _not_ at the note stuffed down the front of her dress, as it had been pointing at earlier, but off toward the island visible as a dusky shadow on the water in the sunset-scene outside the window.

"Ye see?" Jack said, pretending he hadn't noticed the signs of edginess she was giving off. "He was lying."

Gwen seemed to consider this for a moment. Then, as though arriving at some conclusion, she spoke up keenly, "I wonder if _he_ took it then, if he's so dishonest..."

Jack's eyes narrowed at her. Was she trying to throw him off by accusing Jacobs? She was familiarly calling him "Bill." Were they, in fact, conspiring together, and she was trying accuse him to make it appear that she _didn't_ trust the man?

Gwen's hand rose reflexively to her bare neck. "I don't know when he did it," she went on, "but I can't think where else it can be. He must have stolen my locket at some point today."

Jack only stared at her for a long moment with an unreadable expression on his face.

"No, he didn't," he said at length.

Gwen's hand fell slack against her breast. "Well, where else can it be?" she asked, very deliberately and pointedly.

Jack frowned at the sudden shift from his being suspicious of _her_ to her being suspicious of _him_. But while he was trying to _hide_ his misgivings from her, she was confronting him. His frown deepened to a scowl as he fought some vague feeling of conviction at the wary look she was giving him, and he realized he hadn't seen her give him quite that same mistrusting look since the first night he had forced her to accompany him at his evening meal.

Not answering her, he hesitated for a moment before crossing to the trunk which sat on the floor at the end of the table. With a sigh, he hefted the lid open and began rummaging around inside. Gwen caught a glimpse of what looked like a few changes of clothes, some books, and -

Jack dropped the heavy lid before she could see too much inside, letting it close itself with a _thunk_. "Thought ye would've gone through me things by now," he said dismissively. "_I_ would have."

He wavered, not immediately giving to her what he'd dug out of his trunk. "_Quod rape potes, nihil restitue_," he muttered, mostly to himself.

"I suggest for the sake of your _virtutem_, you _do_ give it back," Gwen said scathingly. "You forget, I _can_ understand you."

Reluctantly, Jack took her hand again, frowning sullenly as he placed in it her locket as well as the pair of emerald-crusted hair-combs she'd worn on the day she'd boarded the _Pearl_.

Gwen stared at her returned jewelry for a moment. Closing her hand around the pieces, she then looked up at him with a reprimand screwing her features into a frown.

"Jack Sparrow-"

"Ye got 'em back, luv," Jack interrupted grumpily. She was making him feel like a delinquent youth, which he despised. He was a captain. He could make his own decisions without having someone trailing along behind, telling him whether he was behaving appropriately or not.

Now she was fixing him with a raised-eyebrow, reproachful look.

"I wouldn't have stole 'em from ye _now_," he said, scowling.

"Then why did you steal them _then_?"

"Because they were there."

Gwen let her breath out in an exasperated sigh, putting her empty hand on her hip. "And how would that be different from now?"

Jack glowered at her. "Because now I know ye would do _this_," he said, gesturing at her hostile posture. "And make me give them back."

"And _you_ were accusing _another_ man of being a dishonest old fool!"

"'Ey. Ye can trust _me_," Jack asserted. He almost added that in spite of her concern over her own missing property, _she_ was the one acting suspiciously.

But before the accusation could slip out, there was an insistent pounding at his door.

"Cap'n!"

Jack didn't answer it immediately, staring sulkily at Gwen. He didn't trust Jacobs. Didn't really trust Gwen anymore. Gwen seemed to be wondering if she should be trusting _him_, even. Why was his life always getting so bloody complicated?

"Cap'n!"

"What is it, Gibbs?" he called aggravatedly as he crossed to the door and flung it open.

"It's Tom," Gibbs informed him gravely.

"Not _again_," Jack groaned. He was feeling in no mood to settle a dispute between Cannon Tom and another crewman right now.

Gibbs shook his head. "'E's dead, Jack."

* * *

Latin Guide for this Chapter:

_Quod rape potes, nihil restitue. _(kwohd RAH-pay po-TAYS, nuh-HILL res-TIT-yoo-ay): "Take what you can, give nothing back."

_Virtutem_ (WEER-too-tem): Translates roughly as "virtue." However, our concept of virtue and the Romans' concept of virtue differ a bit. To a Roman, the word conveyed character, ability, courage, all sorts of traits associated with being manly and masculine… Yes, Gwen is referring to Jack's "manliness." You can translate _that_ allusion yourselves.


	20. Death

_**Disclaimer:**__ If you recognize anything, it likely doesn't belong to me, and credit belongs to the rightful owners. Except for the few things that all my faithful readers recognize and know to be creations of my own sad little mind._

* * *

**Chapter 20: Death**

"'E's dead, Jack."

"Dead?" Jack echoed faintly. But his mind was already racing ahead to all of the implications of the death and all possible causes.

"I've already sent fer Jacobs, same moment I come for you," Gibbs said, lowering his voice and glancing over Jack's shoulder at Gwen, who stood agape behind him.

Jack nodded. Gibbs was a good man and a good first mate, anticipating his orders well. "Where's Tom?" he asked wearily.

Gibbs jerked his head in a vague, general direction and turned to lead his captain to the deceased crewmen. Gwen fell in behind them, but neither man acknowledged or even seemed to notice her presence.

The first mate led them below decks, taking them steadily downward to the belly of the ship, answering his captain's subdued questions in similar low tones.

"Just found?"

"Yessir."

"Dead long?"

"Serge don't know yet. He was jus' getting down as I's headin' up fer you." 'Serge' was the arbitrarily assigned nickname of a crewman legally named Christopher, who did his best to fulfill the duties of ship's surgeon.

"Was it...?"

"If it were murder, it weren't blade or shot, Cap'n," Gibbs said, his tone sepulchral. "But you saw Tom this morning, didn't ye? As alive and spirited as any man on board. Somethin's not right."

At his words, Gibbs ushered Jack and the tagalong Gwen into the main cargo hold. Four other crewmen crowded around in the open space down the middle that formed an aisle between the barrels and crates of cargo. One of the men was holding a brightly-trimmed lantern so Serge could see. Jack briefly met the eyes of each of the four men, quickly judging their mental status at the death, before letting his gaze drop briefly to the figure they huddled around.

Tom, a rather large and burly man in life, looked somehow shrunken in death. Perhaps his broad presence, when alive, had consisted largely of his swagger and deep voice. In any event, now his body, laid out carefully on the wooden boards of the ship which had been his life by men who had been his mates and fellow crew, only looked crumpled and defeated.

Jack involuntarily closed his eyes, unbidden images of all the dead he'd seen in his life springing into his mind. The innocents murdered. The warriors falling in their last battles. The criminals accepting their fatal punishments. Those whose time had simply come for them. Even those who had met their ends by Jack's own hands and commission.

He inwardly groaned as he opened his eyes again to the scene of death awaiting his attempts to breathe life and order back into it. It was his duty, as captain and leader of these men, to sort out the truth of this man's demise, bestow the final rites to the lifeless body, and see that life continued and prospered thereafter aboard the vessel.

"Who found him?" he asked quietly.

John, the youngest member of the crew, waveringly held up a hand as one of the other men gestured and said, "The lad here did."

"Cook sent me down after another water-jug for the galley. Said we'd drunk him dry during lunch and he'd forgot to bring up more." The youth paused, as though realizing he was on the verge of incoherent rambling.

"He was there," he said after collecting himself a little better, "all slumped over. He didn't answer me, and weren't breathing, so's I went for help."

Jack nodded curtly in acknowledgment of the information and peered into the shadows in the direction he had indicated. Wordlessly, he crossed to the corner, purposefully not looking down at the body as he edged past it and its attendants in the narrow passage.

He didn't really have to look to know what was there or what _should _be there. The corner Tom had been found in was the one where the barrels of gunpowder and other weaponry and artillery materials were stored. No matter how often his crew cleaned up, reorganized, readjusted, and again lashed down the cargo, he always knew where everything was- in the same way that he made it a point to know the personality and activities of all of his men on board.

After inspecting the area, there was nothing of note that seemed suspicious to Jack. Why, then had this apparently healthy man suddenly died?

As he returned to the huddled group, his gaze fell upon Gwen. She was standing apart from the others, Gibbs having stepped closer to the body and leaving her back near the steps. Her face was completely blank, her eyes almost glassy as she stared motionlessly down at Tom.

Jack finally let his own eyes drift downward. Tom's face was the first thing he saw, as Serge was bending down over the man's torso, checking for any injuries he might not have noticed immediately.

Tom's eyes were only half-closed, revealing grotesque slivers of the ashen-hued whites. Jack suspected they had been wide open when he died. Serge had apparently not been able to close them any further than halfway. The man's face was frozen into an indeterminable grimace of some kind, his upper lip curled back slightly, baring the pointed edges of only a few teeth.

"Let's get 'im out of here," Jack said. Though he wouldn't admit it, he was unnerved by the _look_. It was not the face of a man who had expected to meet Death, or who had succumbed to it willingly.

The men moved to comply, to take the deceased out of the hold to somewhere where matters could be looked into with proper space to move and light to see. But then three more men arrived down the ladder-like steps. One crewmen was escorting Jacobs, and the other man had apparently followed along out of interest or concern upon overhearing the news.

Jacobs seemed to comprehend immediately why he had been taken from his meal to be brought before this somber assembly. His eyes flicked from the captain to the dead body to the suspicious faces that turned to regard him, and he sighed softly in a resigned sort of way. There had been a sudden death on board. Seamen tended to be a relatively superstitious and apprehensive lot, some more so than others, but to all of them, the arrival of a new individual and the subsequent ill-timed death of one of their own was more than just cause for mistrust of the newcomer. Thus, he knew it made him their first target of suspicion.

"I haven't been near the man more than handful of seconds all day," he defended himself after silently bearing the dubious glares for a moment or two. "Although I believe the fellow played a hand or two immediately after lunch before going on-duty, as it were," he added, if a little shakily, after sparing a glance at Tom's gruesome countenance.

"Can ye prove yer whereabouts?" Jack eyes narrowed. The prosecutor and the accused. Both were more familiar roles to him, for his equal time spent on both sides as captain and as general criminal. This, at least, was a more comfortable role for him to play, and his demeanor visibly relaxed a bit, while his face and voice sharpened.

It was Gwen that spoke up then. "I was with him all afternoon till just a quarter-hour ago, Captain."

Jack cut his gaze across to her, giving her a scathing look. He knew her testimony was true. But in his mind at the moment, she hadn't quite escaped from his suspicion herself. Her quick defense on behalf of the old man and her use of the title "Captain" merely stoked the fires. Admittedly, it could be simply that she was impressed by the gravity of the situation and felt the need for honesty and formality. Either way, he refrained from comment.

"Where were ye before ye joined the card-table?" he asked, this time directing his question more pointedly at Jacobs alone by shooting a stalling, fierce look in Gwen's direction.

"I was in several parts of the ship during the late morning and early noon-times, before lunch," the man admitted after a brief pause. He quickly continued, "But I was never alone. All my time can be accounted for if you ask all of the crew."

"One of the crew is dead," Jack said, "and dead men tell no tales. He can't tell us whether or not you were with him when he died."

"I've got no weapons," Jacobs pointed out. "You would have known, I'm sure, Captain, if I had tried to smuggle any aboard with me. And if the gamers from this afternoon can all attest to the simultaneous presence of both myself and this man, alive, as well as accounting for the rest of my time before you found him just now, then surely it doesn't matter how I spent my time in the morning, before he expired."

"Serge?" Jack prompted, not breaking eye-contact with Jacobs.

The ship's surgeon responded dutifully with a weary voice. "I ken't tell as there be any injuries, Kept'n. It could ha' been 'is heart, but I don't quite b'lieve on it."

"Perhaps he was ill with some disease," Jacobs interjected.

Serge looked up to address the accused directly. "Look at 'is face, why don't yeh?" he said, suddenly fierce. "'E weren't ill. That's the look o' one who's attacked sudden-like and don't know 'e's dead till Death's got 'im good 'n' hard."

Jack made no attempt to call the surgeon into order.

Jacobs made no attempt to reply.

"If it were something in his insides, then," Jack said then in a low, dangerous tone, "and something sudden, was he poisoned, Serge?"

"I've 'eard of poisons what could do't to man like so. He han't been dead for long, Kept'n, but I'd wager it's been at least a few hours. Prob'ly didn't last too much past that hand of cards what Mr. Jacobs there mentioned."

Jack let Serge's words hang in the air, convicting any doubters of the very likely possibility that Tom had indeed been murdered, by means of a poison.

"Assuming I'm clever enough to have either brought it on board myself or stolen and concealed after arriving, where did I get the poison? From that island? Do you keep such things on your ship?" Jacobs asked boldly. _Too_ boldly, Jack thought. The man was brazen, convinced either of his own innocence or of Jack's inability to discover his involvement in the death of Cannon Tom.

"That is what we will have to determine," Jack said, simultaneously giving orders, in the form of curt gestures, that the whole party move out of the cargo hold to further investigate the matter.

* * *

"Were you with Jacobs at all during the day?" Jack asked dully, already growing tired of that line of questioning, though Will was only the third man who had come forward with evidence of self-professed importance.

"No," Will answered in similar heavy tones. "But I _was_ with Tom. We spent most of the later morning sparring in the gymnasium. Headed down not twenty minutes from when you and Gwen and Captain Jacobs returned to the _Pearl_. Tunnel and Matthew were there longer than we were, they can attest to when we came and when we left. Directly after, we went to the galley. Elizabeth joined us, and we all three ate together along with Ben Blades. Jacobs was at the opposite end of the galley at that point.

"All four of us played a few hands of cards with Jacobs and Gwen and some of the other usuals before the time for afternoon shift came up and Ben and Tom left. Elizabeth and I played a hand or two past that and then I took her back to our cabin to rest.

"I stayed with her for a half-hour or so. Directly after that time passed, I spoke briefly with Ben on-deck. We were talking about how little there was to be done other than watch the horizons for threats when we anchor, and away from a port at that. Ben said that Tom had realized that very thing and had gone down to inspect the cargo and make his duty-time useful.

"I didn't think any more of it till just now, when I got the word on Tom, Jack. Jacobs is not your man here. I was with Tom practically all day. Frankly, I don't see how anyone could have poisoned him or even so much as tossed a stone his way that I wouldn't have noticed."

Will ended this great monologue. His tone had increased in intensity from weary to fervent over the course of his witness, and he now stood with the same manner as though he were anticipating a judgment call on his own behalf.

Jack's frown deepened even further, drawing creases and lines into his face that were rarely seen. What more could be said or done? Ben had already given testimony to being perhaps the last man to see Tom alive. Ben's story lined up perfectly with Will's, and Jack had no reason to doubt the honesty of either these two men.

Not to mention Jacobs' own protestations as to his own severe lack of motive. What did he have to gain in killing someone he scarcely even knew when he had been dealt no offense by him? Especially considering that in the few hands of poker he'd played, Tom's only association of any sort with Jacobs, Tom had not even beaten him. Above and beyond that, Jacobs had pointed out the absurdity of murdering a member of the crew of the vessel which had essentially rescued him from an exile spanning four decades.

* * *

Jack frowned as he entered the galley, well past midnight, and discovered Jacobs sitting at a table in the corner. Either the crew had understandably forgotten to show him where to sleep, or the old man didn't feel like sleeping. Or didn't feel like associating too much with those who had only just released him from a charge of murder.

The night had been long. The captain and crew had finally, reluctantly admitted that it seemed Tom's death had been merely an astounding coincidence and furthermore had been natural. Serge had allowed the unsettled crewmen to sway his semi-professional opinion back to the possibility of heart trouble. The men seemed more comforted if they could grasp some _reason_ why their companion- even he were among the most troublesome among their number- had suddenly died.

But Jack still couldn't get the dead man's horrific face out of his mind.

That wasn't the only face troubling him. Although at the time, it had only annoyed him, now the remembered image of Gwen staring, aghast and stricken, at the dead man, pained him. As far as he knew, she had experienced only two deaths in her life, those of her parents, on separate occasions. But even he had to admit that as many dead men as he'd seen in his own life, Tom's corpse was particularly disquieting, to say the very least.

Ah, but Gwen. In the light of everything that had been discovered, discussed, and illuminated in the past few hours, it no longer made any real sense to him that she was in league with some diabolic plot. She had probably returned, greatly shaken and perturbed, to his cabin.

When he had at last started to head back above decks to return to his cabin, he had been hoping he could find some release from the stress of the night, hoping to mindlessly rut away his anxieties and then collapse in a sweaty heap to sleep off his troubles till morning. But he had then been reminded that Gwen was perhaps already asleep, and that even if she were awake, it was probably best for him to give her at least a full day's time to heal.

Acutely aware of disappointed desires then, he had just been walking past the galley when his stomach rumbled and he realized he hadn't eaten. Thinking a late meal and several good stiff drinks would satisfy him and numb his senses just as well, he turned aside and entered the galley.

Jacobs offered a vague half-smile in greeting, but the expression only looked like a twitch at the corners of the mouth. There was no emotion in it.

Jack hesitated. Despite all the evidence, he still wasn't sure he trusted the man. At the very least, he wasn't fond of him, and the old man made him uneasy somehow.

But Jack only nodded in acknowledgment and silently crossed the wide room to the double doors of the actual cook's galley. When he emerged a few minutes later, he made his way over to Jacobs, depositing on the table a platter of rummaged foodstuff which didn't require preparation- leftover bread and fruit- and a pair of bottles.

Jacobs cheered visibly when Jack shoved one of the bottles toward him and upturned his own.

"The last drink I had was so long ago," Jacobs said fondly. He paused for a moment in rumination, then downed a tentative sample from his bottle. "Brandy," he said after a moment. "I never really did acquire a taste for rum. But it was always so hard to find good brandy around Tortuga or any of the old haunts."

So perhaps if the old man wasn't guilty, then that explained why Jack didn't like him very well. Not like rum?

By the time Jack finished off his own bottle of rum, he had already returned for a second of the brandy for Jacobs. Jack knew better than to allow himself to have more, as he would need to be awake again early in the morning and couldn't sleep all day. Jacobs, however, knew no such limitations. Nor did he have the tolerance to handle even his first bottle, which was only two-thirds full, let alone the second.

But a world devoid of sobriety is often a kinder world, Jack had noted oft before, and he found it much easier to get along with Jacobs once they both had decent amounts of liquor in them.

His original intentions had been to get Jacobs drunk enough to drag out the truth of any lies the old man might have told thus far. That objective fell by the wayside shortly after he taught Jacobs his favorite song. The old man's alcohol-saturated tongue had a tendency to change notes and even keys far more often than the song really called for, but to Jack's ears, the warbling was pleasing enough.

When it seemed that choruses of "Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me," finally became too difficult for Jacobs to manage without laughing heartily at himself and Jack alike, he reverted to telling tales, interspersing them with apparently unrelated comments, such as how lovely and beautiful it was to be on board a ship again, and what a wonderful ship she was! Mostly, he just repeated bar-legends that had been popular back in his own hey-day. The few he told of his own adventures were mostly dull and had nothing to do with the legends of the cursed treasure or with his accidental exile. To keep himself from dropping off to sleep where he sat, Jack began telling of some of his own adventures.

"So then I got this rash from a Tijuana whore," Jack was saying, grimacing appropriately but exaggeratedly at the memory. He looked lost for a moment, then resumed blithely, "Robert's your uncle, Fanny's your aunt, and then I 'found' ten gold crowns and bought meself the ugliest bastard of a boat I've ever sailed. Last boat I ever wasted money on. People selling things, they always lie. Ye _commandeer_ 'em, ye see what ye're getting, right up. And if it _does_ turn out bad, ye didn't lose nothing. Just go get another'n."

"Cap'n!"

"This'n, see," Jack said sagely, "this'n knows things, knows who 'er captain is, lis'n!"

"Aye," Jacobs crooned. "Lovely _Pearl_, lovely lady."

"Cap'n!" But this time, the _Pearl_'s voice was closer and. more masculine, somehow, than Jack thought it should be.

"Cap'n," young John said again as he approached and stood before Jack, breathless. He had been running through the ship seeking his captain.

The urgency in the lad's voice had a somewhat sobering effect on Jack. Despite the pleasant buzz of the rum, the serious events of the evening had not strayed far from his consciousness. In limbo between the real world and the fairer world of intoxication- though still a few drinks away from being totally lost in the latter- he tried to corner his concentration-skills as he dutifully asked John what his message was.

John hesitated for a moment. "It's Gwen, Cap'n."


	21. I Shall Never Look Upon Thee More

_Disclaimer: Amongst the many other things in this tale that do not belong to me, a few lines of verse belong to others. Those will be appropriately credited at the conclusion of the chapter._

_**N.B. The first part of this chapter isn't in strict chronology. Scenes with Jack can be considered "real time." Scenes with Gwen are necessarily back in time a bit. Just a heads-up so the switching doesn't confuse someone.**_

* * *

**Chapter 21: I Shall Never Look Upon Thee More**

Jack struggled to decipher the words, sketch their meanings into something his hazy mind could understand.

_It's Gwen…_

Had the night not done its worst? Had it claimed another?

Not her.

_It's Gwen…_

He was vaguely aware of questioning voices, John's concerned tones and Jacobs' querulous slurs, calling after him. But they were far behind now. The galley fell behind him as well, the corridors whizzed past, the steep stairs disappeared below him, and the night reached out to envelop him in its cool, dark embrace as he barreled onto the main deck.

The moon was absent, lost behind clouds, and the _Black Pearl_ itself was besieged by an empty blackness. The dark was oppressive, held back from completely devouring the ship only by a couple of lanterns.

"Cap'n-" came a voice as one of the lanterns approached him.

"Where is she?"

The lantern paused. There appeared to be a hand and arm from which the light swung in the air, and a callous face behind, but to Jack's dazed perception, it seemed that the light itself were speaking to him. In his surreal state of mind, this didn't even seem all too bizarre.

"Gone," the light said without inflection. "By the time we realized what were happening, she's gone."

* * *

Gwen slipped away from the group as Jack led them into a mid-sized room not far from the galley. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice her leaving as they carried in the body of their deceased fellow crewman.

Numbed, she made her way slowly upward, not entirely sure where she was going. Except away from the death. She wasn't surprised to find herself ascending automatically to the main deck of the _Pearl_.

As she stood on deck staring out at the blackness of the stygian sea, she tried to keep her mind blank, but thoughts of her dead parents crept in despite her attempts to block them. Her mother's death had left her to grow up mostly alone and dependent largely upon herself for all but simple material concerns while under the stoic, detached care of her father and his appointed governess. _His_ death had ultimately left her to make her own way in the world, including even the meals, clothing, and shelter she had previously taken for granted.

She thought she had provided those for herself, in one way or another, here on board the _Black Pearl_. The dresses she'd gotten from Elizabeth, the extras other than the one she was currently wearing, were folded neatly and were unobtrusively stacked in one of the unused chairs pushed up against the work-table in the cabin. In Jack's cabin, that is. She'd moved them there this afternoon from her small store-room quarters below decks, without asking Jack.

Food was allotted to her as readily and equally as to any other aboard. And as to lodging… she was quite sure Jack wouldn't argue with her decision to move in to his quarters.

Above and beyond those, her social life had flourished far past even the happy childhood associations with her mother and a few playmates to share dolls with. Now she had found close friendship with Elizabeth, with whom she spoke and spent time almost daily. She had found companionship in the crew, and even a form of… fond mutual alliance, as she idly considered it to be, with Jack.

Gwen exhaled heavily, trying to banish the existential thoughts of her own life that the crewman's death inspired in her. She tried to concentrate only on what her senses told her. 'Twas better to focus on the external world when the one inside her own mind became so dreary.

She could smell and hear the sea beneath the ship, even if she couldn't see it as anything more than a collective darkness. She could feel the gentle rolling of the water as she automatically swayed in time with it to maintain her footing on the deck. Gwen imagined she could even taste the salt.

The main deck itself was lit by a single lantern hung carefully in a metal frame outside the map room. Two other lanterns were consulting with each other up on the poop deck. Or rather, the crewmen on watch, from whose hands the lights swung, were discussing something in low tones.

Gwen silently crossed the deck to the captain's quarters.

* * *

"Why is she gone?" Jack demanded. Then, somewhat surprised at the vehemence of his own voice, he altered his question. "Where is she?"

The crewman-lantern didn't seem to notice his captain's attempts to change his line of interrogation. "Don't know why, Cap'n, don't make no sense 't all. We couldn't figure it till it was too late to keep 'er from it. John went after ye soon's we figured what were happenin'. We, er…"

The lantern swayed a bit as the crewman glanced about apprehensively. Then the man continued, in a somewhat diminished tone of voice, "We knows ye've been fond on the lass, Cap'n. Figured you'd not be too happy once John tol' ye. Figured you'd want to go 'long yourself after 'er first thing to find out o' what account she went on like that. "

Jack's face went blank as he tried to fathom the man's words, both the accusation of his warmth toward the girl, and… was he suggesting that Jack would want take his own life in response to it?

* * *

Gwen stood with her back to the closed door, staring dully around the familiar room. The barely-touched evening meal still sat on the table, as did Jack's compass, lying just where she had absently set it down when Gibbs had interrupted with his dread news. Jack's quarter-full tankard of rum was waiting patiently on his desk for his return. Beside it was his hat, which he'd forgotten in his haste to investigate his crewman's death. Likewise his coat was slung across his desk-chair.

Gwen distractedly realized then that her hand was clenched tightly into a fist around her returned locket and her jeweled hair-combs, which were biting into her skin. Mutely, she went and set her hair-combs down beside the compass, considering the compass thoughtfully as she looped her locket around her neck and slid it protectively down the front of her dress.

Gwen stared at the compass on the table, lost in thought on where it had led her and the _Pearl_. Had the compass led her here? Or had she led the others here with the assistance of the compass? Either way, there was a man dead now, and she was the one responsible for their being here at all, wasn't she?

This thought gave her pause. Was it her fault that the compass had brought them here? No. It was the compass that was to blame, and she wasn't going to let her thoughts go that route...

Was it that the treasure was cursed, and that its curse could claim lives? She thought that that had been the tale. But they hadn't touched any of it, had they? Perhaps it was just the place. But Jacobs was still alive. Perhaps Tom's death was only coincidental. In any case Gwen just knew she wanted to leave, and quickly. This was suddenly no longer quite the adventure she had had in mind. And she knew Jack wouldn't leave until they'd found treasure, or at least irrefutable proof that no such hoard existed.

She bit her lower lip and glanced around the cabin again, taking in the trunk on the floor, and Jack's hat and coat…

* * *

"Cut the ropes to all the other boats, too. Sly things, women are," the crewman spat out in a mix of grudging respect and hurt pride. "Don't know how she sneaked past us all doin' that. Saw 'er low'rin' her own boat int' the water, though, but didn't think on it till Tunnel sees how pale she is. Thought it were yer ghost, for a minute, we did, what with how… Well. Noticed she were too short then and figured it out, sent the lad after ye."

Jack's brow furrowed as he assimilated this new information, which John probably would have told him if he had stuck around long enough to hear it. They thought he would be upset to learn that Gwen may have treachery in her intentions, to be stealing a boat and leaving while everyone was still occupied with thoughts of a crewman's death. His frown changed little as he rapidly shifted from concern (at the very least he could call it that) at another death to suspicion of betrayal by one he had unwisely assumed he could trust.

"How did she get all the way off the ship before ye knew it was her?" he asked accusingly, trying to hide his misunderstanding lest the crewman read too much into his distress.

"John didn't tell ye all, aye?" came the response. "Had your coat 'n' hat. With them plaits she's sportin', 's'hard to tell any difference at just a glance. Didn't even think on it. Figured, Cap'n, you'd've asked for help only if you needed it, so's we let 'er get her boat without both'rin' 'er or even payin' too much mind and let 'er start rowing off t'ward the shore 'fore Tunnel figured she looked like your ghost by the light of 'er lantern."

"She cut the ropes?"

"Abe's got another'n rigged to go by now, I'd wager. Oy, Abe!" The crewman nodded curtly at the captain, his way of taking leave of him, and went to go assist the other man in repairing another shore-boat to be lowered into the water for the captain's sake.

Jack swallowed and wrinkled his nose in displeasure at the sudden turn in circumstances, then turned and moved toward his cabin. It was darker than it should be on that portion of the ship, it seemed, and he realized as he opened his door that she must have taken the lantern that usually lit the main deck there.

Inside his cabin, where his coat should have been draped across a chair, her dress was laid out. His hat was missing, and his trunk was still open. It was obvious she had rifled through the few articles of clothing he had stashed in it. Grumbling, he reached into his trunk, digging toward a bottom-back corner for his pistols. He scowled when he came up with only one. He had had two. As he gave the pistol in his hand a cursory inspection, he realized that _she_ must have taken Barbossa's gun, which he still kept and had grown rather attached to after carrying it for over a decade now. Grumbling all the more, he shoved the other pistol down into his belt and went for his sword under his bed. That, at least, was where it should be, untouched.

Still muttering under his breath, he left his cabin, slinging his baldric over his shoulder and securing his sword at his left hip as he walked.

"Send for Jacobs. He's in the galley," he ordered at large, not bothering to specifically deliver the command to any sailor in particular. The sound of boots scurrying off toward the hatch to go below decks satisfied him, and he joined the first lantern-bearing crewman and Abe where they stood readying a shore-boat for their captain to go ashore after his wayward female consort.

Jack's mind was spinning with misplaced suspicions. Going from trusting Gwen without thought to doubting her to reaffirming her sincerity to becoming suspicious yet again of what her motives could possibly be in stealing away in the middle of the night (through deception, at that), shortly after an unexpected death on-board, especially where lost treasure was at hand somewhere, whether underwater or underground. And his faith in Jacobs' integrity wavered across all ends of the spectrum with every new shred of information he took in.

Jacobs was fetched, hiccuping and chirruping, and helped ditheringly into the boat. Jack set off, with the old man as his dubious guide, after Gwen into the dark, all-but-blindly rowing toward the hulking black shape of the island, which was only with great difficulty separated from the rest of the tenebrous seascape.

After beaching his boat, Jack took his lantern in one hand and a handful of Jacobs' shabby white apparel in the other and began with a closer scrutiny of the beach. About fifty yards from where he himself had run ashore, he found a second boat, pulled up just barely above the water-line, surrounding by many deep marks from where Gwen had apparently scrabbled about in the sand, heaving the cumbersome vehicle out of the water.

Setting his face into a grim scowl, he turned in what he thought was the general direction of Jacobs' cabin, which was his first chance, in his mind, of finding Gwen. Jacobs was no help. He followed along willingly enough, not even bothering to protest the undignified way Jack dragged him along in his wake. The old man was thoroughly sauced.

However, he seemed to realize he was back on his island again, even in the aphotic gloom that pressed close around them. A change came over him. He spoke of stranger things than any of his previous benign ramblings that Jack had heard.

"They took me away, my dear… dear," he sing-songed, slurring his words together until they were only just distinguishable from each other. "Took me away… my beautiful lovely. Aye, and the _Pearl_… and the _Pearl_, she waits there… the lovely. The lovelies."

Jack eventually turned loose of the old man, and Jacobs followed along unquestioningly, though he didn't acknowledge Jack's presence at all. He merely followed, though weaving unsteadily on his feet and catching himself against trees frequently, speaking or muttering to himself in stilted sentences the whole way up the slope, eventually lapsing into quoting verses apparently ground deep enough in his memory to be retrieved with little thought.

"Death be not proud… 'nd soon'st our best… men with 'ee do go. Slave to fate, chance… desperate men… I shall never look up'n thee more…"

Jack swallowed, an unexplainable uneasy feeling coming over him as he realized the lines that flowed unguardedly from Jacobs' tongue. Something gripped the pit of his stomach as they finally neared the top of the hill, and Jack saw light peeping through the crack of door in the little cabin. Gwen was there, then, he presumed.

"Never have relish in th'… power of… love," Jacobs intoned with the same colorless expression he'd been muttering in for the past half-hour or more.

Something gave way in Jack, thoughts unsummoned linking together and bonding, making connections and severing others as his mind sorted through a veritable swamp of suspicion and clues, dragging out a hazy image of truth.

"On the shore of the wide world I stand alone," Jack said to himself, barely above a whisper, as he approached the door, "and think till love and fame to nothingness do sink."


	22. Origo Pestis et Gwenae

_**Disclaimer:**__ Let things which belong not to me be accredited to those to whom they belong. And it was so, and the belonging of things was great, and the belonging of things was largely not to me._

* * *

**Chapter 22: **_**Origo Pestis et Gwenae**_

Gwen turned abruptly, startled from her search of the old man's roughly-built chest of drawers, to face Jack as he burst through the doorway behind her. The tan of his skin and the sun-bleached white of his shirt and the dingy red hue of his bandana, all in their peculiar lantern-illuminated shades and tones, made him a stunning figure to force its way through the door. Captain Sparrow's image lacked not even a single subtle detail to make him an arresting and imposing presence at that moment, and Gwen felt immediately convicted of her crimes against his pride and trust in sneaking off the ship. But still, she couldn't help noting that without his hat and without his coat, he looked rather like a disgruntled gypsy, baring the rims of some of his golden teeth at her in a displeased, grim frown, his hair-beads swinging.

Behind Jack, a very inebriated Bill Jacobs slid into the one-room cabin, muttering something about a former naval midshipman and about an urn and about the destructive and chaotic qualities of rabid monkeys as he seated himself mechanically at his stocky old table.

Gwen's brow furrowed at this, but she dismissed him quickly from her immediate concern and turned back to meet Jack's condemning glare with her own narrow-eyed stare.

"Whadda ye mean by all this?" Jack finally asked, purposefully letting his eyes rake over the figure she presented. The boots she wore looked a bit too bulky on her for them to actually fit her well. He recognized them as a pair he had pilfered not so long ago, only to discover belatedly that they were much too small for his feet. He'd somehow sluggishly never gotten around to just chucking them overboard, and he silently cursed himself for giving her even that small help in the assembly of her costume this night.

Tucked into the boots she wore a pair of grey-colored pants which didn't quite fit her either. A long strip of a pin-striped sheet very similar to the one he'd torn his own sash from, wound around her waist after his own style, seemed to be the only thing holding the trousers up. The sash also secured the tail of the shirt she wore, a washed-out shirt that had once been blue. The wide, low neck opened halfway down to his navel when _he_ wore it himself- this being the free, comfortable style he preferred. Gwen had taken the extra effort of trying to tie or pin the gap closed, but she had only succeeded partially.

His coat, pulled over the shirt, was clearly intended to disguise any overt features of her femininity, but he noted, in spite of himself, the curve of her hip and more enticingly, the rounded, natural shape of her unsupported breasts hidden beneath the heavy fabric.

Jack's survey of her took only a few seconds before he raised expectant eyes to meet hers again. In the same instant, he unceremoniously lifted his beloved old tricorne from her head and settled it over his own unruly mass of dreadlocks, braids, and tangles. His eye drifted for a moment to ruefully consider the exotic look he himself had given her in plaiting her hair after the vague likeness of his own. Another finger of blame to point at himself in aiding her with her guise.

"Well?" he finally prompted, waving his hand peremptorily.

Gwen released her lower lip, silently chastising herself both for getting caught in her venture and, more importantly, for not having a proper excuse prepared. "I-" she began haltingly. "Well, I-"

"Ye snuck off _my_ bloody ship in the middle of the bloody night!" Jack blasted, since she didn't seem to be able to get a handle on her tale. He leaned close, his eyes wide, gesticulating in vague, flowing shapes which Gwen took to mean first "ship," and then "night." She could smell the now-familiar scent of rum on his breath and frowned when she found it necessary to resist an ill-timed urge to kiss him, to taste him.

"Yes," she agreed, realizing the stupidity of her response. But she also mentally noted the uselessness of Jack's own statement as well.

When she didn't go on, Jack picked up his irritated accusations again, pointing out various objects on her person or in her hand for her consideration as he spoke. "Me hat, me coat, me compass. And wha's that?"

Gwen clenched her hand tighter around the slip of paper in her hand, the selfsame scrap she'd found in this very cabin, with Jacobs' things. She clamped down on her facial expressions too lest she inadvertently give away any of the suspicions she was beginning to have after deciphering the scrawled handwriting on it. She wasn't sure she wanted him to know about the beliefs she had based on the writing and other clues until she was sure herself that they were true. "That would be me- er- my… it's mine."

Jack's eyebrows immediately lowered and his gaze turned suspicious. Gwen rushed on, changing the subject before she could accidentally let anything else about that particular secret slip out.

"I- I came after the treasure, Jack. I think it's down where _he_ said there was a garden, down the slope behind the house," she said, pointing appropriately at Jacobs (who was now snoozing with his head down on the table, making light wheezing and snuffling sounds), and then in a direction toward the back of the little house.

He simply raised an eyebrow at her, and she obediently went on.

"I _had_ to sneak! You wouldn't just let me go looking for '_your'_ treasure, now would you? I thought this would work, which it did. At least, it worked long enough. The men thought I was you, didn't even pay me any attention, really, until I was already gone. I heard the shout go up and the orders given to find you, but I was already pretty far gone…"

Jack huffed in an exasperated sort of way. "To hell with _how_ ye got here, wench. _Why _were you going after _my_ treasure?"

"It's not all yours. It's to be split with the entire crew, in accordance with your own Code," Gwen retorted, raising her chin defiantly at her smart aleck comment.

The smoldering glare that he fixed her with was more than enough to inform her of just how well he appreciated such dry humor at this instant. Gwen's insolence waned quickly into a rather sheepish stance as she tried to think of how justify her position to him, since he was obviously going to allow no lies or coquettishness. It was already beginning to sound silly even to herself, anyway.

Lowering her eyes to his feet, she told his boots in a hesitant tone, "I… wasn't- or at least, I haven't for the past- well, I don't intend to leave the _Pearl_ at all when this is all over and Will and Elizabeth go back to Port Royal. You never answered when I asked to stay..."

She glanced up to see what effect these words had on the owner of the boots. He merely stared down at her with an unreadable expression on his face. Dropping her gaze once again to the neutral focal point of his feet, she went on with her explanation to them. "I assumed you would be _eager_ to drop me off in Port Royal. So I thought perhaps if I could find the treasure, it could… it might convince you I'm useful enough to stay on-board. I guess … Tom… I suppose I was feeling unnerved and I felt like I had to do something. It seemed like a good idea at the time…"

Jack laughed. He laughed at her. Although her mention of the dead crewman checked his mirth. "Still naïve, Gwen," he told her simply after a moment.

Gwen didn't say anything, but she looked up and met his gaze evenly.

"And still rash," he said, grinning his golden grin at this. Her rashness he had a greater liking for than for her naivete, which she frequently used as something to hide behind when her occasional mischievous comments bordered on angering him. Even when he knew she was only _pretending_ to be innocently unaware of what she was saying or doing, he always found it hard to properly condemn her or curse her when she donned the halo of child-like innocence. Rashness, though, he could relate to and appreciate as being a reckless trait.

Gwen was idly considering the fact that even yet, she rarely heard her name fall from Jack's lips. He still tended to speak _at_ her, especially since a sizable portion of their conversation occurred when there were only the two of them in the cabin, and he didn't feel a need to address himself specifically to only one person.

Gwen. He said it with a curious enunciation she couldn't quite identify. Perhaps he pronounced the "G" a bit more than most people did, or perhaps he lingered on the vowel sound a little longer.

"And still absent sometimes," Jack said, waving a hand before her face.

Gwen blinked at him, focusing her vision and mind on him.

"Let's say I buy that." He held up a finger to stall her protests as to the veracity of her confession. "Now, lass. Ye said yerself- and the compass, were we to ask it just now, would probably say the same- that the treasure be that way." His hand flipped about to point in the same general direction Gwen had indicated a moment or two ago. "Why are you _here_?" The pointing finger jabbed down at the ground to indicate the cabin itself.

"I was tired and decided to rest for a moment or two in the cottage here, since this was on my way." She answered quickly, hoping she didn't sound to Jack as if she were being evasive. "It was more work than I expected to row that boat to shore, and then there was that hike."

Jack didn't argue with this, as it was probably true, though he did give her a somewhat skeptical look. There _was_ something she wasn't coming completely clean about. He casually noted that her hands were empty now except for the compass. She had slipped the paper she'd had earlier into one of the coat pockets, no doubt. Sly.

Without any explanation for his actions, Jack snatched up his lantern from where he had set it on the table beside Gwen's. He passed hers to her as well, and paused for only a brief moment to consider the sleeping Jacobs. Jack had been on the verge, an hour or so earlier, of relenting in his suspicions of Jacobs, but they were now back full force. Jack had more than bounteous experience with drunks, being among the ranks of the thoroughly intoxicated himself from time to time, and Jacobs was a creepy drunk. And experience had taught Jack that creepy drunks never had a perfectly reasonable excuse for being creepy. At the very least, though, for now, the old man was incapacitated. He'd have to sleep it off, so Jack felt perfectly justified in leaving him behind for now. Best he _didn't_ come with them now, in fact, if they were going to go search for his treasure right under his nose and in spite of his claims to its "true" location.

Taking her by the arm, Jack guided Gwen toward the doorway and ushered her out into the night.

"What-"

"Follow the compass, lass. We're going to solve this once and for all tonight, 's'long as we're here."

* * *

Old Bill awoke sitting at his table in his old cabin. As he did every morning when he awoke, he reminded himself that he was exiled here on the island. And reminded himself that he was to be civilized nonetheless. Reminded himself of the balance of good and evil and all such things in the world. Then, he remembered the _Black Pearl_ and her captain and the young lady coming for him, and he spent a long while trying to decide if it was a dream or no.

As he gazed around at the dark interior of his hut, he waited for the haze of sleep to clear away. But it didn't. It was the stupor of strong drink, he remembered foggily after a moment. Drinks he'd gotten on the ship, he remembered. He glanced into the corners of his hut again with this new realization. If he wasn't on that ship… well, why was he back in his cabin? How did he get there, and where was everyone?

These were very intriguing and important questions, of course, but the alcohol made him merely grin amusedly at his predicament as he idly considered how drunk he was.

It wasn't quite morning yet. The inside of his cabin was only half a shade lighter than the absolute dark of night. But as he waveringly stood and stepped outside, he entered the curious realm of predawn.

Just before dawn, all of the earth takes on a mystical silvered appearance, the barest first hints that day is coming soon. The twilight of the evening is considered more often as a time of magic, as all of the nocturnal creatures and darker forces of the natural and supernatural planes awake and begin to prowl about, but the twilight of morning sees those beings silently back into slumber, a far more intriguing aspiration than awaking them. It's at this time of day that souls like Jacobs or Jack or perhaps even Gwen find the world to be most fascinating and mysterious.

As Jacobs stood, supported in the doorway of his hut, blinking happily into the pale gloom and grinning stupidly at the world he saw in his intoxication, he automatically went through his morning ritual of recitations. 'Twas better to sacrifice one's own comfort than to sacrifice others on a personal altar to one's own greed and jealousy. Greed led to piracy led to jealousy led to death led to guilt and pain. And all manner of similar endorsements to his accepting a peaceful life alone on the island. So he wouldn't go mad.

With the brandy running through his veins and clouding his brain, the familiar self-encouragements didn't quite soak all the way in, but that was all right. He knew them well enough. It was best for him to be on the island, and it was best for him to remain there, where it was safer for others as well as himself. Because… well, because… he couldn't quite remember.

Ah well. Where the devil- ahem- wherever did those ship-people get off to? Not down by the garden? No, that was silly. Why would they be there? He sluggishly wondered why he would jump to the conclusion that they would be in such a silly place as that. They would be on the ship, of course. Ship-people wouldn't bother with gardens. Ah, the garden. Yes, it must be checked on. Every morning, it must be checked on.

He made his way, lurching and rebounding off of the occasional tree, around the house and down the familiar pathway down the slope behind.

"With silver bells… and golden bells," he mumbled cheerily as he went. "And pretty jewels all in a row."

* * *

Jack stood at the entrance of the cave, staring out at the almost-eerie fronds, stalks, and leaves of the huge "garden" as the plants whispered amongst themselves about the imminent sunrise, only an hour off now.

There was no way a man could have simply _domesticated_ himself such a varied garden from the limited and largely non-edible plant life of a random island like this. These crops could only be the product of intentional preparations and planning. And it was the final straw on a camel of suspicion that suggested to Jack that Jacobs was hiding his own, _true_ version of the tale regarding himself and his treasure in much the same way Jack tended to keep mum about the less-embellished truths behind legends about himself. But Jack's tales didn't involve people dying unexpectedly of unknown causes.

Gwen came to stand beside him, sliding a string of pearls idly through her hand. They'd explored the entirety of the cave, which stretched for a few hundred feet into the gut of the little mountain which was the most notable geographic feature of the island and on which Jacobs had elected to built his hut. Jack had admitted that it was a modest find compared to the hoard that had been stashed away for ten years by the cursed mutineers who had stolen the _Pearl_ from him. But still, the size of the cache and the amount of loot squirreled away in it suggested that Jacobs and his men had saved at least portions of their booty for several months and stowed it away here for safekeeping. It was still a sizable cache, though, and Jack didn't believe it was possible that _all_ of the treasure had rested at any _one_ time in the belly of the _Neptune's Lady_, Jacobs' old ship. He was uncertain if he dared to laden the _Black Pearl_ itself with so much heavy cargo.

Gwen was thinking, not for the first time in the past hour or so, about how quickly Jack had dismissed her confession of intentions to remain aboard the _Pearl_. One way or another, he thought she was silly for thinking it such an issue. But did he think she was being silly because there wasn't a devil's chance he would allow her to stay? Or did he think she was being silly merely in thinking that she would be challenged on that point?

"There was no storm," Jack said.

"Hmm?" Gwen looked up at him, confused.

"He ran his ship aground purposely. Stowed a gulley-full o' treasure in that cave, with the rest of it already there, and cannibalized his own ship for building supplies." Jack shuddered slightly at the unbidden image of the _Pearl_ in pieces at the doing of his own hands. "Why?"

Gwen stood silently, having no answer for him, but admittedly rather impressed by his logic as he rapidly pieced together everything he knew about the entire situation to try to discern the truth.

"Let's have it," he said suddenly, thrusting his hand out toward her, palm up. He waggled his fingers at her impatiently when she didn't move quickly enough to please him. "That bit of paper, the one you've been hiding from me."

She merely stared at him for a moment. Bloody pirate. Clearly, he was far more observant than she gave him credit for. Finally, grudgingly, she produced the slip of paper from a coat pocket, reluctantly handing it over to him. Jack snatched up his lantern where he had set it down at his feet, holding it up near the slip of paper so he could read.

Then Gwen waited for him to reason out and discover what Gwen now feared was true. She was afraid to ask Jacobs any questions though. It was clear _he_ didn't really know, and she didn't want to alert him to the fact. Didn't seem prudent.

However, when Jack looked up at her again, he looked baffled, not enlightened. "Explain," he said shortly.

Ah. Gwen had forgotten- he didn't know this part. In their weeks of acquaintance, Jack had heard the skeletal outline of her origins. How her maternal grandmother had gone from somewhere in the Caribbean back to England to raise her daughter alone. And then how, at her grandmother's eventual death, her mother had been supremely fortunate to achieve a marriage to a man considerably higher above her in rank and wealth. However, of course, there were plenty of trivial details Jack wouldn't have at his disposal to help him interpret the handwritten message in relation to her.

When Gwen didn't answer him immediately, as though he thought doing so might stimulate her response, Jack read aloud the words, cramped onto the little scrap of paper in unsteady print.

"'_I practice my letters still. As always, thank you for the lessons. Return soon. You were always my favorite. -Rose' _Why does that mean anything to ye?"

Gwen still took her time answering. "The cabin _was_ on the way here. But I only stopped because I wanted to look for more clues before I jumped to any conclusions."

"Do ye know who this Rose is?" he asked, beginning to become irritated again.

"Rose!" came a cry just then.

Gwen and Jack barely had time to exchange apprehensive looks before the tromping sound of Jacobs' feet brought him toward the mouth of the cave where they stood. He emerged from around the overgrown, brush-covered lip of the cave.

"Ol' chap," he was saying as he rounded the corner and faced them. "Di' I hear you say- Ah! Rose, dear. But where's your fine dress, love? Always one o' the oddest I see, and here looking half like a man tonight."

Jacobs, listing heavily toward first one side and then the other as his balance wavered between extremes, paid no further attention to Jack after his initial greeting addressed to him. He lurched toward Gwen, grabbing her arm lightly just above the elbow and pulling her back a few steps.

"Have you 'eard of me being a god now, Rose?" he asked, chuckling.

Gwen was wide-eyed but didn't look particularly surprised at his mistaking her, in his drunken miasma, for someone he once knew. She glanced at Jack for a brief second. Then, rather than let the chance slide by, she played along. "I haven't. Tell me," she said quickly.

"Me 'n' the boys just in fresh from an adventure. Down round the Middle Africas. They insisted on worshiping me, give me a new compass what don' work." He laughed heartily to indicate his disbelief and amusement. "Lucky, though."

"Tell me," Gwen urged again.

Jacobs frowned in the peculiar fashion of those recalling unpleasant memories, and he shook his head slightly. "Never mind that. Fellas jest want another excuse to be jealous over what's mine. So's they start inventin' things to be jealous of."

Gwen started to say something, to this, but Jacobs interpreted her attempt to speak before she could actually say something.

"I know what ye're go'n' t' say. But I'm not all that greedy, Rose. I share you, after all, don' I? Don't expect ye to stick to me anymore'n I stick to jest you. But none'a that's important now. Think m' luck's changing. You jest wait, though, ye'll be hearin' o' Black Bill and his crusades this time next year."

Gwen smiled along with him for appearance's sake, but was unsettled by the relation of the tale. Her eyes cut away toward Jack again, and as she met his gaze, she saw the same realization in his eyes.

Jack had had plenty of experience with the supernatural. He'd even been cursed himself for a brief period of time. He wasn't a skeptic. And if the alcohol-induced honesty of a crazed old man was to be given any credit at all, Jacobs was claiming himself, not his hoard of treasure, to be the source of the curse connected with his name. All of Jack's suspicions were aroused, and he furthermore felt them all more than justified. This man was surely responsible for the demise of his own crew so long ago… and for the fresh death of one of Jack's. But _why_?

"Why did ye kill them?" Jack found himself asking.

Jacobs turned, surprised, to regard him curiously. "I wouldn't kill anyone," he said. Though his words still slurred together by the blur of the brandy, the swaggering sailor's accent was replaced with his usual, more erudite speech. The switch wasn't lost on Jack. "Who are you talking about?"

"Yer crew," Jack answered.

"My crew," Jacobs repeated absently.

"Ye killed your crew over this," Jack accused, sweeping his hand around in random gestures to point out the treasure lying about.

The old man's brow furrowed as he looked around the cavern, lit by the lantern in Jack's hand as well Gwen's light where she had left it several yards deeper into the subterranean den. As the man left off his reverie and drifted back into the present, Jack expected to see enlightenment cross his features.

Jacobs _did_ seem to recognize his surroundings then, and the shining wealth that littered the place, but it was with a sort of confused detachment that he viewed them. When he looked again to Gwen, though, he seemed taken again by whatever freak had led him to believe she was his Rose from times past, and his expression became fierce.

"It's mine," he insisted suddenly, harshly. "Only through _my_ doin's we got any of it. It's _all_ mine."

Jack stepped forward, opening his mouth to respond to Jacobs' sudden aggression.

But he halted as though he had run into a wall, and his words were crushed before they could reach his lips as an invisible hand clenched around his ribs. Jack could feel his heart racing faster. His lungs suddenly felt like they were filled with molten lead, not air, and his gut wrenched and twisted searingly within him. He tried to move, or say something, but the world was fading into darkness around him, and interaction with the black nothing outside of himself seemed futile. He could only concentrate on the way his blood was freezing in his veins. Or was it burning? Liquid fire, burning as it ran through his body, consuming all. He tried to will the volatile ichor back into life-giving blood; tried to draw clear, fresh air into his starved lungs; to calm the desperate, empty racing of his heart.

"_What are you doing to him?_" Rose's voice echoed through Jacobs' ears. And yet it sounded a little different. Perhaps it was just his imagination. She was dressed oddly as well, he'd already pointed out. If she could be transported somehow, magically, from Tortuga to where they were now, in this cave full of treasure, though, he figured it was acceptable within the enchantment that she look and sound a bit different. Always was an odd sort of wench anyway. Claimed she was saving up to go to England. And still wanting to gain the ability to read from him instead of having him pay in gold, like her other "clients."

"He's dying!"

He frowned. Dying? What was she prattling on about? He cast his gaze about him. There was treasure. And more treasure. It was all his. But he didn't see anybody dying. Just treasure. All his, of course. If someone was dying, that'd be one less person who'd want to steal his treasure from him anyhow. Let 'em die. But there _wasn't_ anyone there. He'd never hurt anyone. Or, that's why he was here on the island, wasn't he? To not hurt anyone? His head ached, trying to sort this out with the brandy still stalling it.

"Hush up, wench," he insisted then. "C'mere." Catching her roughly around the waist with one hand, and her arm with the other, he pulled her toward him. Rather than submit to him, though, she recoiled from him, shrugging out of his loose embrace and wrenching her arm from his grasp.

"What the devil-"

He was silenced when he found himself at the mercy of a gun Rose had produced from a pocket of her man's-jacket and which she now aimed steadily at him with her face screwed into a determined expression.

"Let him go!"

"Devil take ye, slut, put that down, and stop yellin' nonsense."

"I'm not your Rose," Gwen said through clenched teeth, trying to will away the foul sensation of his hands on her skin where he had grabbed at her so inappropriately, especially considering his relation to her, even though he didn't know it. She had to fight down bile to keep her disgust and repulsion from causing her to vomit. As coolly and levelly as she could manage, she aimed her weapon at him. She wasn't sure anymore how much of Jacobs' vulgar and belligerent behavior to blame on alcohol. He was beyond mad. Jack's madness was tempered impeccably with genius, wit, and his own code of morality. Jacobs, though, was showing obvious signs of the sort of madness of a broken mind and a dangerous man.

Jack.

He had fallen, much like a tree, into stiff heap on the cold stone floor. His lungs were heaving frantically, his hands clenched into fists so tight his rings were biting into the flesh of his fingers.

"You're killing him!" She couldn't help the exclamation, even though she knew she was beginning to sound hysterical, and that her cries were having no effect on Jacobs.

"It's the treasure, 'idn't it?"

Gwen stared at him incredulously.

"Finally, yer bloody letters aren't enough. Ye're after me gold too!"

"It's not about the damned treasure!" she snarled, heedless of her language, but her next sentence was broken off. It was as though the words had become volatile before she could even speak them, and had turned to liquid rock in her throat. She couldn't breath. She gasped, but no air seemed to make it past her throat.

Gwen stared, entranced, down the line of her arm to the pistol clutched in her hand.

The magma flowed, burning and paralyzing, into her lungs; whipped her heartbeat into a frenzied, panicked gallop; congealed her blood in her veins as it spread outward into her limbs, toward her extremities. Her vision began to fail, and she could barely feel the stiffening muscles in her hand…

Pain, as the air sliced into her lungs again like a jealous lover. Fatigue rushing in where her muscles had been frozen rigid. Throbbing, as her heartbeat, which seemed ponderously slow, pounded out its rhythm inside her skull.

She dared not move. Couldn't bear to move.

Until, after an eternity's moment, the pain receded into a tingle, the fatigue melted into a bearable weariness, the throbbing receded to a dull thrum. She cautiously sat up, taking in the scene around her.

The mystic silver of the dawn twilight had changed almost imperceptibly, in her few minutes' oblivion, to a pale golden glow as sunrise drew closer. The string of white pearls she'd been clutching in her left hand lay in the dirt at her side. Before her and behind her were sprawled two figures.

Gwen's eyes, as soon as she raised them, were involuntarily frozen on the old man before her. His silver-white beard, the white of his tunic, were sullied with crimson. The cursed, greed-driven madman was dead. But it still seemed to her that the body belonged to a snowy-clean prophet, and her heart ached at the thought of the man's apologetic, half-embarrassed smile at beating her in the card game, and the memory of his childish pleasure at meal-time. She realized her right hand was still clutching the culpable weapon, the pistol she'd taken from Jack's trunk as a safety precaution on her lonely venture. Turning loose of it, numbed, she tore her eyes away from the corpse, not wanting to think about the duality in the man. Or the fact that she'd killed him.

She'd killed him. An innocent man. And yet a murderer. And her-

"Did ye catch the officer what tried to hang me?"

She finally managed to tear her gaze away and turn to Jack. He was grimacing and holding his head. He groaned as he pulled himself slowly to his feet. Gwen watched his face as he slowly became aware of the scene below him. "Ye-" he began uncertainly when he saw the body.

"My grandmother- the one who sailed from the Caribbean- her name was Rosemary," Gwen said hesitantly, numbed but perfectly aware that it seemed a random thing to say. "My mother always insisted the Caribbean was no place for a lady. I think it's... because her mother had been a prostitute…"

Jack stared at her. Then his gaze flicked to the dead man, the man who'd seen some resemblance of some sort and had mistaken her, in his drunken rumination, as an old favorite whore. For a long moment, he was silent. Then he pulled Gwen to her feet, scooping up his hat as well the pistol she'd dropped, and affecting as close to a nonchalant demeanor as seemed appropriate, he led her from the cave. It was time to return to the _Pearl_, to sort things out and return to a normal balance of things.

"_Acta est fabula_," he murmured as he drew Gwen gently after him.

Gwen said nothing.

* * *

_(several days later)_

"We never found out what the curse _was_, or the blessing or whatever he called it."

Jack idly swirled the rum around in his mug. "Out with what ye're really thinking, luv."

Gwen didn't bother wondering how he knew there was more to her thoughts. "If he… _was_ my grandfather… What if I have the ability to..."

Jack passed her his half-full tankard, digging out a full bottle of rum for himself from a desk-drawer. "I've wondered the same," he said blithely, sounding very much as though 'wondering the same' didn't really trouble his mind all that much. His coffers were full, so to speak, and Jacobs was no longer anything to worry about.

His relatively easy acceptance of Jacobs' death- especially considering the old man had lost his mind, was empowered with unnatural abilities to kill without even thinking about it, and was thus more than simply dangerous- had helped to soothe Gwen's troubled spirit. But no matter what the circumstances, even in self-defense and retaliation for harming and killing others, killing someone was not something she was finding easy to cope with. And of all people, her estranged grandfather.

Gwen didn't comment. But if he could put it out of mind, surely she could, at least temporarily. She drew deeply from the mug, closing her eyes at the strong flavor of the drink as she swallowed.

"We'll find out about ye sooner or later, aye?"

"Aye," she repeated impishly, though she reflexively chewed at her lower lip.

Jack lifted an eyebrow at her as he upturned his rum bottle and took a long pull from it.

Elizabeth and Will would soon be leaving them. The _Pearl_ was now halfway back to Port Royal, where the two Turners would reassume their lives as upstanding citizens and await the birth of their child. And await the next time that Jack Sparrow would bring adventure to their lives. And Gwen… Jack hadn't brought up again her confessed intentions to stay with him. Well, to stay with the _Black Pearl_. Not him, really. The ship. But he _did_ make allusions to a "we" when he assured her that they would eventually bring to light the details of whatever inherited mystic traits she had gained through her far-from-clean-cut grandparents.

"That doesn't matter now, luv," Jack was saying, and Gwen was almost surprised to note how close he was to her. He had crossed the cabin to her while she had been lost in thought. "We got the treasure, and ol' Jacobs… well, the poor devil's free from himself and we're all free from him, aye?"

"But what if people around _me_ start dying?" she repeated glumly.

"Ye don't have any reasons to want them dead, do ye?"

Gwen eyed him doubtfully. "What does that have to do with it?"

"Well, ye said ye didn't start to black out yerself until he decided ye were after his treasure too. He didn't want any threats to _his_ treasure to live. Tom must've accidentally mentioned something about the hoard."

Gwen considered this.

"None o' that, luv," Jack said at her pensive mood. He took another pull from his rum. Gwen sighed and swallowed the rest of hers.

She turned to set the mug down on the desk behind her. She sucked in a gasp of surprise, though, when she felt a cool liquid running down her chest, between her breasts, soaking through her dress.

"Jack!"

His tongue followed, lapping at the rum dripping over her skin. "It's been days," he murmured. "And ye need this."

"You mean _you want_ it."

"That too," he said, pulling at the closures on her bodice with the hand not still grasping his rum bottle, and nudging her gently toward the bed.

* * *

Latin Lesson for this Chapter:

_**Origo Pestis et Gwenae**__- "The Origin of the Curse and of Gwen"_

_**Acta est fabula**__ (AHKT-a est FAHB-yoo-lah)- "Drama has been acted out." The actual meaning is self-explanatory, and in this case, appropriate. It also can be taken loosely to mean "It's over" (since the phrase was always used to signify the end of a performance in Roman theatrics), which would also be appropriate in this instance._


	23. Epilogue

_**Disclaimer: **__Once upon a time there was a poor wanna-be writer who borrowed characters from other people, played with them for a while, then quietly handed them back without ever making any profit from them. And, whether happily or unhappily I cannot say, they all lived ever after._

* * *

_**Epilogue**_

"So you're staying with Jack, then," Elizabeth said. It wasn't a question, nor was it a judgment of any sort. It was merely a statement, intended to draw more information from her friend.

"I've signed into the crew of the Black Pearl," Gwen answered amiably, avoiding mentioning Jack in her reply. Not intentionally, really, but merely because in her mind, she didn't consider Jack to be the primary reason she was staying. Her informal role as his consort was just a part- albeit a relatively important part- of the bigger whole of the Pearl itself, and a life at sea.

Elizabeth merely fixed her with a look- the sort of look people tend to give to others when they discern something about someone that that person isn't really aware of on their own.

Gwen just smiled, oblivious to the true nature of the look Elizabeth was giving her. If there were anything she really regretted about taking to the life she'd chosen, it was that Elizabeth- the only real female friend she'd had outside her mother's companionship in her childhood- wouldn't be in it as much as she would have had Gwen elected to try roughing it as a governess or some form of wage-earner here in Port Royal. Elizabeth lived an honest life on land (though rumors of her and her husband's association with pirates did besmirch her reputation in the eyes of some souls on the island). On the other hand, the world Gwen had been initiated into was one with its own code of what was respectable and decent, and consisted of the seven seas.

"We'll certainly be back to see you before too long. To see your baby," Gwen reassured her friend.

Elizabeth couldn't help but smile in maternal appreciation of the reference to her beloved, though yet unborn, child. But she didn't miss the "we" in Gwen's statement. Somehow, she didn't think Gwen was referring to the entire crew of the Pearl. Just herself and Jack.

Elizabeth wasn't naïve or blind. What Gwen casually avoided acknowledging, Elizabeth could still discern in her words and her friend's body language. She knew well enough, had noticed, that Gwen and Jack had become lovers at some point before or during the return trip to Port Royal, even if neither of the two would admit to any emotional bonds (or even the physical ones).

"Gwen," she said then, in the solicitous, compassionate tone of one sharing advice of a significant nature, "you know, there are methods of… avoiding… Well, it's just a matter of following the rhythm, to know when and when not to… indulge." She gestured toward her own stomach at the word "when," then swept her hand toward Gwen at "when not."

Considering the overall train of their conversation thus far, Gwen couldn't fathom what Elizabeth was trying to tell her. Rhythm? When not to "indulge"? Indulge in signing onto a ship? That was what they had just been talking about, wasn't it?

"Indulge?" Gwen repeated, bewildered.

"You know," Elizabeth said, nodding significantly, "in… activities."

"Stop talking in code!" Gwen exclaimed, a little more forcefully than she had intended. She smiled her apologies, asking more lightly, "Activities?"

"With Jack," Elizabeth clarified, placing a hand pointedly on her own gently rounded tummy, the evidence of her own "indulgences" with her husband.

Gwen felt the color flowing into her cheeks. Elizabeth knew.

"Rhythm," she repeated dubiously after a moment, determinedly acting as nonchalant and business-like about her affair as Elizabeth was.

"Your body has a rhythm," Elizabeth said simply, dropping her voice conspiratorially. "An old mystic taught me the last time we went off with Jack last year and stopped by her haunts…" She went on to explain, rather explicitly, the fertility signs Gwen was to watch for.

Gwen only smiled her thanks for the caution and advice, uncertain about how to respond to Elizabeth's practicality and thoughtfulness. In truth, she'd never given thought to the very likely possibility of her conceiving and all of the difficulties it would present not only to herself, but to Jack and even the crew of the Pearl as well. Elizabeth was a married woman with a stable domestic life and a desire to have children with the man she loved. Gwen was not.

"Well. You and he will be leaving Port Royal this afternoon, I would assume," Elizabeth said in a normal voice. "So as long as you're here, we can at least find you some more suitable attire for sailing and working."

* * *

"Land ahead! Tortuga!"

Faces turned upward at Gwen's cry as the crewman on deck heeded her shout. The men cheered and exchanged gleeful grins with each other. Jack, at the helm, grinned up at her, the sunlight catching his golden teeth and making them gleam.

Gwen smiled back, pleased and content.

The crew as a whole had long since accepted her as a worthy enough companion. Now, though, she was thought of much more highly and more often. She was their pet.

Rarely did any landed person just decide to go become a pirate. All of the Pearl's crew (with the exception of Gwen now, of course) could point to at least something of a nautical background. Most had had more than ample experience on merchant ships, military vessels, or at least fishing boats. Piracy had been the alternative for them as each found he didn't want to bother or simply couldn't cut it within the confines of an "honest" marine life.

But Gwen, now… Not only was she a woman, a novelty they had only just become accustomed to seeing about the ship, she was inexperienced. She knew relatively nothing about the sea other than that she liked it quite a lot- had come to love it, really. Her freshness in this regard charmed them and reminded them of their own love for the sea.

And so she had become the crew's pet. While there were some doubtful ones (Gibbs in particular was heard to express from time to time that it "weren't right" for women to be sailors), most eagerly jumped at the chance to help train Gwen.

Gwen knew she was being patronized. But rather than become indignant at their sudden fuss, she just put on her best naïve-face, which seemed to charm the crew all the more. Every time she learned a new "trick"- some feat of securing a sail or tying a line off with the correct knot- it was celebrated with high-risk card tournaments and singing of bawdy songs and other such encouragements that the crew liked to find excuses to indulge in anyway.

Once or twice already since they'd left Port Royal, the captain's (and thus Gwen's) evening meal-tray had included a sweet cake-like concoction. While Jack was laughing at the cook's odd notions of giving treats to the crew's pet, she had said nothing. Instead, while he was distracted by his own joviality, she had happily consumed both her own cake and the portion that had been clearly intended for Jack (for good measure) and then washed it all down with a gulp of his rum. When he'd turned back to her, she'd simply smiled and shrugged, feigning ignorance as to why the men were treating her so like a spoiled toy-animal.

"Ye've got them all wrapped up 'round that little finger, luv," Jack had observed then. "If I'd known ye were going to start takin' run of me ship, I'd've not let ye sign."

Gwen had only smiled coquettishly. "I can't help it. Men will be men. …Could you get this? I must have knotted it too tight."

Jack had complaisantly unknotted the laces of her blouse for her, oblivious to Gwen's amused grin…

Gwen smiled at the memory now as she watched Tortuga draw closer and closer. During her "training" thus far, Jack and the crew at large had been pleased to discover she had a particularly sharp eye. Coupled with the fact that, in trousers rather than a skirt, she could climb about with an astounding grace and agility not available in the ungainly forms of the majority of the men, Gwen's keen eye had landed her in the crow's nest during many of her "formal" duty-hours.

Hence her current post atop the ship, watching Tortuga slowly creep closer and closer over the surface of the water. Well. Dared she sample the chaos and debauchery tonight? Hmm…

* * *

"And then they made me their chief," Jack said, after another compulsory gulp of his rum. The faces around him, some familiar, some total strangers, grinned impiously at his tale. Whether or not they really heard or understood every word that was said, through all the alcohol muddling both the speaking and hearing ends of communication, wasn't important. Really, it was a part of the ritual involving bar-tales. If they were always told and remembered accurately, even the greatest of Jack's own adventures would become old hat, especially considering how often the tales were retold by others.

So Jack merely reflected the same half-drunken smile back at them all, draining his mug.

With the emptying of his tankard, his mind too became a void and he couldn't recall whether he had intended to tell another anecdote or simply let his last settle in. While he briefly considered the matter, though, another man began a tale, a relatively dull one about the conquest of single-masted ship that Jack had already heard before. Instead, then, Jack busied himself by pretending to listen as he tried to catch the attention of a tavern-girl so he wouldn't actually have to get up and go to the bar for more rum.

Finally earning a wink of acknowledgement from a passing female server, Jack leaned around the lass perched on his lap to thump his empty mug down on the table to wait for it to be exchanged with a new, full one. As he did so, shifting the girl's weight back into one arm while he leaned around the other direction, in a cool move requiring no thought or conscious effort, she giggled.

The sound made him aware, really aware, of her presence for the first time that night. It didn't seem strange at all to him to have a woman roosting on his knee, cooing and twittering and doing her wicked best to subtly tempt him into bed, to earn herself a few shillings for the night. He drank and laughed and swapped stories and ill-mannered jokes and sang and did all manner of things with the ladies of the night hanging about him or sprawling over his lap, and he scarcely ever gave conscious thought to their presence until he decided to follow one to an upper room.

Now, though, Jack found that giggle strangely rather irritating.

He quickly forgot the annoyance, though, when his fresh tankard of rum came. Flipping a coin at the woman who brought it, he downed a gulp of it and turned his attention back to an older pirate telling a tall tale about how he and his crewmates had defeated a giant sea-creature on a voyage in his youth.

The girl casually turned to beam at Jack then, in what was surely intended to be a particularly fetching smile. He smiled back at her, his usual devilish grin with golden teeth glinting, though there was something, perhaps in the way the corners of his mouth didn't quite pull back far enough- something, anyway, that made the smile seem withheld somehow. Jack wondered briefly if the lass looked familiar or not… had he perhaps slept with her once or twice? It was hard to keep track. But if he had… or even if he hadn't… well, had she always had that much bright rouge staining her cheeks?

Just then, as was wont to happen in any bar, but especially in the sort of taverns abundant in Tortuga, a scuffling trio of drunken brawlers careened through the loose drinking-party Jack was currently part of. The group was scarcely affected at all by the interruption, and the drinkers kept drinking while the story-teller kept telling. The wench in Jack's lap squirmed a bit though, as she tried to avoid swinging fists and limbs as the fighters tumbled past, twisting a bit uncomfortably on top of him for Jack's current taste.

"Easy on the goods, luv," Jack said in her ear then, so she could hear. He accompanied the words with a light but insistent shove at her back, a not-very-subtle hint that she get up.

She gave him what was apparently supposed to be a hurt look as she stood, but the expression seemed empty and completely failed to catch Jack's attention. No matter, of course; the whore quickly found herself another man to haunt.

Jack knocked back another swallow of his rum and licked his lips, about to comment on a non sequitur made by the current story-teller. In the next instant though, his intended remark changed to a surprised protest. Not only was there another wench parked on his lap now, she had snatched his tankard right from his hand!

In a flash, he'd snatched it back, though not fast enough to prevent half of the remaining precious liquid from being gulped down by the usurper, and with his other hand he tried to oust the offending lass from her perch.

In the very next instant, though, he recognized the way his hand automatically settled comfortably at the girl's hip, and he met the familiar brown eyes.

Gwen simply smiled down at him.

…And found herself forced up onto her feet again in the next instant. Jack finished off his rum, nodded and grinned at his drinking-companions as they smiled knowingly at him and offhandedly sized up his apparent "choice" for his evening "entertainment." Then Jack pulled Gwen along after him, loosely grasping her wrist.

As soon as they were out on the street, Jack leading her in the general direction of the docks, Gwen looked up at him, thinking she must have timed her arrival at just the wrong time. Not necessarily the wrong time, really, she thought, smiling in spite of herself. She guessed he must have been feeling particularly libidinous just as she had come in. Hence the immediate departure. Though she convinced herself she believed Jack was free to do as he wished, still, she had taken note of the girl that had been on his lap when she entered the bar a few minutes before she actually approached Jack.

In fact, she was close to the real reason for Jack taking her out so quickly, but hadn't quite nailed it. The trouble was she had arrived not as just a female companion when he was aroused (which, incidentally, he wasn't particularly feeling at just that moment), but as an obviously better one at just the moment he had begun to wonder if all the rouge and twittering was really necessary in a lover. And Jack was uneasy about admitting that any one woman could claim such a monopoly over him. It didn't seem right in his mind somehow.

Jack turned loose of Gwen's wrist, snaking his arm around her waist instead. It was a sign to the other men carousing openly on the streets that this one was his. Of course, such claims were usually open for debate, and debates were usually carried out in the form of blows and punches, and often with the assistance of blunt weapons. Still, though, the pair was mostly left alone. Those who recognized Captain Sparrow thought twice about trying to steal his wench from him. And those who didn't quite recognize Jack did manage to recognize Gwen, or more accurately, at least recognize in a general sense what she wasn't. She looked too clean-cut to be a worthwhile whore, but too sly to be an easy target. So she and Jack were largely undisturbed as they walked.

However, when they reached the shore-side edge of town, Jack took her not toward the docks, but along the beach. She walked along with him without complaint or question, until finally he stopped just down the beach from immediate proximity to all the ships and pedestrians and buildings. For a long moment he said nothing, looking lost in thought.

Then, exhaling and then inhaling deeply as though dispelling some funk or mood, he said, "Nice night. It's brisk, but my nipples aren't hard."

Gwen had been into a couple or three taverns before alighting in the one Jack had currently been in. She'd sipped from a few drinks over the course of the evening, bought for her by hopeful sailors. While she had been careful not to get drunk, especially considering her size and the fact that she didn't have the tolerance of a long-time drinker, still, she was feeling a bit warm, especially in… particular regions of her body.

"I can fix that for you," she said at Jack's offhand comment, grinning wantonly up at him.

Jack merely stared down at her, a retort caught on his tongue before he could speak it. He had been about to reply to her suggestion when he had realized how easily it came, exchanging jesting comments and observations and even light-hearted insults with her. The same sort of enjoyment that… well, that he hadn't ever gotten from any of his female partners before. Not even the ones he'd had willing, unpaid affairs with. The same sort of banter he'd seen and heard Will and Elizabeth exchange.

"Damn you, Gwen," Jack said at length, vague irritation and something unidentifiable coloring his tone. He followed word with mismatched action, bending slightly to press his lips against hers. Lips quickly parted and tongues warred. Jack hugged her hips against his, deepening his tongue's thrusting into her mouth to compensate for the thrum that surged through him at the sensation of her pressing up against his growing arousal.

After a minute or two, Gwen pulled away from him slightly. She licked her lips, a thoughtful look on her face in the wane moonlight and the glow from the city as she tasted their rum-flavored kiss.

"Damn you, too," she said lightly. She met his eyes and held them for a moment, both of them silently daring the other to try saying something more. But the silence held, and neither could help grinning their thankfulness at leaving that as it was.

Then her gaze wandered, drifting along his cheekbones, following his jaw down to the beard-braids, which she had freshly re-braided that very morning (she'd grown annoyed at the "bubbles" created by the continually-growing hair at the top of the braids and had done it for him), then to his mouth. He captured her lips again then, running his tongue across her bottom lip, as Gwen reached for his belt. A surprised "mmm" growled from the back of his throat, though, when her hands grabbed not at his belt, but below. He squirmed involuntarily at her touch and broke the kiss. He glanced around at the ground then, seeing it in a light he hadn't quite been considering just a few minutes before. Sand was just fine for feet, but for sweat-slicked bodies…

"Come, luv," he grunted. Gwen brooked no argument, hurrying eagerly beside him back toward the docks.

As soon as the cabin door clicked shut behind her, Gwen found herself pinned against it. The cotton blouse and light skirt she wore when not climbing about the rigging were instantly invaded by wandering hands. Jack had her divested from them, along with her undergarments, in a matter of moments. Desperate not for equality in her nudity, but for fulfillment, she tugged at Jack's clothes. His sword and belt buckles clattered as they fell to the floor. His coat, vest, and shirt fell in heaps on the rug. Jack stepped out of his boots so she could slide his trousers off.

Gwen sucked in a sharp breath when she realized what he intended then, as he lifted her, wrapping her legs around his hips and bracing her back against the door.

* * *

"What's that?"

Tunnel, a middle-age fellow, turned at the voice of his crew-mate. "What's what?"

"Don't ye hear that?"

"I be not deaf," Tunnel replied shortly. Seeing then that Ben wouldn't turn loose of the subject without getting an answer, he heaved a sigh and explained, "Cap'n come back a few minutes ago, whiles you were runnin' rounds down b'low."

"So what's that noise?" Ben asked, turning his ear to catch the sounds coming from below them where they stood near the helm. The light, muffled thumps came in a rhythmic pattern, accompanied by an occasional soft rattle of what sounded like a doorknob in its latch hole.

Tunnel couldn't help grinning lasciviously at the man. "Can't quite say. But Jack had the lass wi' him."

Ben grinned back. "All Tortuga's open t' him, and 'e's 'ere, wi' her. Been wond'rin' if she'd trapped 'im yet."

Neither of them spoke a word for a moment. When the muted rattle-thump suddenly stopped, though, Tunnel cleared his throat. "Best we get back to our patrols," he said as though nothing had happened.

Ben nodded sagely, and the two moved off in separate ways, clamping down on their amused smiles.

* * *

Gwen unlocked her hands, where she had them clasped at the nape of Jack's neck, sliding them now open-palmed over his shoulders and down his chest as he slowly lowered her feet to the floor.

"Heavens, Jack," she breathed. "That was…"

"A nice beginning," Jack finished for her in a gravelly, low tone, pulling her body against his and capturing her lips once again.

"You pirates are never satisfied, are you?" Gwen teased as he scooped her up and carried her toward the bed.

"I hope not," Jack said, flashing his golden grin as he laid her down. "I've got a paper in that desk there, with yer signature, what says ye're a pirate too. And if what ye accuse is true…"

Gwen just laughed- a real laugh, not a flirtatious chirping giggle- and pulled at his arm to get him to join her on the bed. "If it's true, then you'd best stop playing around and get down here," Gwen said.

"When a woman woos," Jack said with a melodramatic air at the invitation, "what woman's son will sourly leave her till he have prevailed?"

* * *

_Note:_

_The final line is from Shakespeare's 41st sonnet. It seemed very fitting. (Different copies of this sonnet seem to disagree on whether or not the last line reads "he have prevailed" or "she have prevailed." But whichever is correct, I can hardly imagine Jack admitting defeat to Gwen.)_

* * *

_**A **__**HUGE**__** thanks to everyone who read and reviewed this work while it was in progress, and to those who continue to read and continue to review.**_

_**Thanks again to all of you.!**_

_**-Delfe**_

* * *

_**To all readers: It's tough getting all the characters to do the right things in the right places at the right times to produce a fanfic. It's almost like making a whole other movie, except with a lot fewer people, and a nonexistent budget, etc. When the author **__can__** get everything working, you get great fanfiction. And those times when the characters don't quite listen to the author... well, then you get something like this:**_

_**Outtakes and Bloopers Reel : Honest and Dishonest Men**_

Gwen stretched languorously as she awakened and groaned as her stomach reminded her that even after all this time, it still wasn't sure it liked being on the open sea. It was getting-

Jack strolled into the cabin, opened all the drawers of her vanity table one at a time until he found a bottle of rum, and then he turned and strolled right back out again.

Gwen blinked in surprise. "Cut! Jack!"

Gwen hung on to the rope as she swung out, the world a whirl of sea and sky and deck and sail, Graymere and Black Pearl. When she suddenly lost her grip, she was both surprised and dismayed to find that her left foot was tangled in the rope. She frowned as the rope swung her, pendulum-fashion, upside down, in smaller and smaller arcs, until she was finally hanging nearly still, suspended over the two ships by her foot.

"Jaaaaackkk! Get me down from here! I hate this bloody rope scene. Where's the writer? I'll kill her."

"Welcome aboard the Black Pearl," Jack said cheerfully, and then turned (and swayed heavily toward one side as he did so), flinging his hands up in the air. "Lock her up in the brig!" he shouted to his men as he staggered along toward the helm.

"The brig! I thought I said- er… I thought you said you're not, I'm- not of any use… blast… What do you do with a drunken sailor, after all?"

"Shave his balls with a rusty razor," offered Ben.

"Really?"

"Or put him in bed with the captain's daughter. I saw it done once. Captain near-about killed him, but the girl didn't complain."

"Miss Webster… Captain wants yeh to dine with 'im."

Gwen stretched, then reached to grip the bars of her cell in the brig to pull herself to her feet. A resounding clang echoed through the hold as she knocked her head against the bars. "Oww! Cut!"

There was a knock on the door. The cook, no doubt, with the evening's meal. Jack made a noise that sounded very much like a grunt, and the door swung open in response.

"Pizza's here! Did you want cheese or pepperoni, Mr. Sparrow?"

Jack leaned over the table, opened the window, and chucked the bottle of brandy at it. And jumped back as it shattered on the window frame.

Jack chucked the bottle of brandy out the window. And jumped back as the window shattered.

Jack leaned over the table, opened the window, and paused to look at the bottle of brandy. Very slowly and carefully, he tried to simply drop it out the window, but couldn't seem to maneuver it through the window frame, even though the window was a quite a bit larger than the glass bottle. He turned around, holding the bottle in one hand and scratching his jaw with his other hand.

"Give me the bloody bottle, Jack," Gwen said. "I'll throw it out the window. You're too drunk."

"I'll throw you out the... the thing. An' tha's _Captain_ Window."

Jack stared at the compass disbelievingly, looked up at Gwen, then back at the compass.

"What is it?" she asked, bewildered.

"It's… it's my Superman compass. I thought the East India Trading Company took it from me, but it was right here, all this time… And I was worried that I was going to have to eat another two hundred boxes of Really Bad Eggs ® and send in for another one. Wow… 2-D cape action and everything…"

"What are ye doing?" Jack bellowed into the mayhem. "What are ye doing to me-" THUD! "Ow!"

He slowly got to his feet, rubbing his head. "Who's the bloody idiot that spilled all the soap water? No shore leave for you, buddy."

"So where are we going now?" Gwen asked.

"To shore," Jack said with a smirk.

There was a long silence. Gwen watched the little waves in the water as Jack rowed them to shore.

"'And after that'," Jack hinted softly.

"Oh," Gwen said. "After that, you'll lash me to a tree, rip my dress to shreds, ravish me, and have your filthy way with me."

"And after that?" Jack asked, playing along with the line mix-up.

"I'll probably beg you to do it again."

"And after that?"

"I'll have the writer come up with another line for you to say here."

"And after that?" Jack snickered.

"I'll probably have to fight you off of me."

"And after that?"

"You'll be looking for a surgeon to sew your left nut back on."

…

"And after that?" Gwen asked.

"You'll probably beg me to do it again, " Jack said with a grin.

"Why, because you're not man enough to get the job done the first time?" Gwen shot back.

As it happened, the Turners were just discussing how long it had been since they had last seen their errant pirate friend as they-

Jack wandered into the room, crossed to a portrait of Elizabeth's father, took it off the wall, and reached into a hidden compartment behind it. He brought out a bottle of rum, then finally seemed to notice the Turners staring at him.

"Oh. Sorry. Er… Go back to the part where ye're discussing me, savvy?" he suggested as he scurried back out of the room.

Gwen and Elizabeth were visiting with each other in the maproom, sharing tales of-

Suddenly a loud snore followed by a groan came from the floor at the far end of the room. Jack pulled himself to his feet, clutching a bottle of rum. Mumbling something that sounded like "Quidditch," he nodded at the ladies as he crossed waveringly to the door and left.

"Oy, Cap'n, up ye goes," came a voice from the dark, complete with a set of arms.

"Whaddaya mean, 'up I goes'? I'm _already_ up."

"Yeh're _supposed_ to be down," came a second voice.

"Why would I be down?" Jack asked.

"Well, ye're supposed to 'ave fell over 'ere, an' we help yeh to yer cabin," explained the first.

"Why would I be 'fell over'?"

"Yeh're supposed to be drunk."

"Wait a min- I'm _supposed_ to be drunk?"

"Aye."

"_Really_ drunk?"

"Aye, sir."

"I'll be back."

Jack turned up a bottle of rum.

A middle-aged man hurried up to him. "No, Mr. Sparrow," he said, taking the rum from him.

Jack started to protest.

"Here," the man said, putting it carefully back into his hand. "You see? Can't have the brand name showing like that. We didn't bother with royalties, this is fan fiction after all, no budget. K, cut! Let's try it again, from the top!"

Gwen's jaw dropped as she saw the sheer number of empty bottles lying around him.

"Jack!"

He started and turned glassy eyes on her. "Aye?"

"Where's all the rum?"

"On holiday?"

"Don't play stupid, Jack. Why's the rum gone?"

"Funny thin', that," Jack said slowly. "It, uh- It was brod- bloody arful… awfur… not good! We got raided-ed... -ed. They drunk it all, right 'ere in fron'-a me!"

"Right in front of you? And you didn't even try to stop 'Them' from drinking it right in front of you?"

"They were… _naked_," he explained, still speaking slowly to try to hide his slurring speech. "Naked women," he added quickly. "I coulden refuse them."

Gwen rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Jack, that rum was supposed to last through the end of the story, and you've drunk it all in one day."

"_Lots_ of naked women."

"Jack..." Gwen heaved an exasperated sigh.

"In fact, ye may have been one of them," Jack went on.

"Somebody find the caterer and tell him to get some more rum- and this time, hide it better!"

"I think ye were probably several of them, in fact. Do you have a bri- birch- mirthbark on your-"

"One more word, Jack, and you'll be drinking tea for the rest of the story."

Jack stared, dumbfounded, at the group of men struggling to light a fire in the center of the main deck.

"_What the hell are ye doing?_"

"We figured after we sing 'A Pirate's Life for Me' a time or two, we'll go into a few rounds of 'Kum Ba Yah.' And then, after that, Smithy's nicked some marshmallows and chocolate bars for us and we can tell stories and… What? Where are you going? Bring back graham crackers!"

"Well, let's see," Elizabeth said. Her eyes grew distant as she tried to recall the list of crimes that had been read aloud at Jack's unsuccessful execution a couple of years back. "Piracy, of course. Smuggling. Arson. Looting. Poaching. Sailing under false colors. Sailing under the influence. Docking in a no-docking zone…"

Jack looked at his mug of water, then looked at Gwen's turned back. If he was smooth, he could give himself a quick cold shower and then play it off as an accident. He eyed Gwen carefully once more, then turned back to his water. The water-mug poised over sternum, he slowly began tilting the mug-

"What are you doing?"

Jack froze, raising his eyes to meet hers. He licked his lips and shifted his grip nervously on the mug. Then, suddenly, he began swinging it back and forth, sloshing water everywhere as he sang, "Ohhhhhh, i-dee di-dee di-dee di-dee, di-dee di-dee die!"

"…Attempting to sell the King himself at the on-water shopping center, Whee!-bay. Attempting to sell national landmarks on the black market. Um... Copyright infringement…"

Jack reached for a flag from the stack of "false colors" he kept folded on a shelf, intending to dry himself with it. He paused as he lifted something off the top of the stack, then he turned slowly and held it up for Gwen to see.

"What… is this?" he said with a leer, waggling his eyebrows suggestively at her.

Gwen's eyes widened and she squirmed when she saw the lacy red negligee he was dangling from his fingers. "It's... not your color?"

"…Offering candy to small children. Cutting line. Assaulting a little old lady who tried to help him across the street when he was drunk…"

"Where did you get the compass, Jack?" Gwen asked, turning the odd device over in her hands.

"I told ye, I got it from eating two hundred boxes of Really Bad Eggs ®."

"No, Jack, not the Superman compass… this one," she said, waving the enchanted, much more mature-looking compass in his face.

"Oh. Wal-Mart, probably."

"Tell me you got it from sea turtles," Gwen sighed. "It's in the script."

"I'm the captain, I give the orders here!"

"Where did you get this?" Gwen asked, fingering the compass.

"I don't know, it just says in the bloody script I'm supposed to carry it around. Go ask the author."

"Jack…" she groaned.

"For the hundredth time today, where did you freakin' get the damned compass?"

"I stole it from a man with no legs named Lucky who tried to gnaw off my arm but in the end just tried to give me an enema so I fled the country and seized a villa and sold it for an exorbitant price which is a large word that I don't know the meaning for do you want to go try on the negligee for me?"

"I quit."

"Is that a no?"

Gwen walked into the galley, looking for a good game of cards to while away a few hours.

"Hi-ya, Gwen," several men greeted her. "Pull up a chair, grab a needle."

Gwen stared, dumbstruck, at the large quilt spread over a table, around which the men were sitting. A broad, patterned skull graced the center of the intricate patchwork.

"I think I'll pass," she said slowly, backing toward the door.

"Suit yourself," one said, then turned back to his needlework. "So anyway, I told her if I was going to pay that much she was going to have to take it all off. I hate it when they leave those corsets on, it's like sleeping with a whale's ribcage…"

"…Purchasing forty gallons of drain-unclogger and fifty-three bottles of cough syrup at once…"

Jack picked a short, curly, dark hair from his teeth. He turned to Gwen. "Is this mine or yours?"

"Jack thinks the sun rises and sets just for him, too," Elizabeth observed.

"Not quite," Jack said impishly, reappearing at Elizabeth's shoulder. He clapped his hands twice, and the sun winked out.

"…Grand theft naval vessel…"

Jack's jaw dropped.

"When I left," he said haltingly, "there were six bottles of rum here. I come back, and there's a drunken wench."

"You wan' me to help yah find 'er, Jacques? She can' have got far."

"Did you just call me 'Jacques,' Gwen?"

"Not Jacques-Gwen. Jus' _Jacques_. Are you gonna drink th' rest o' that?"

"Somebody's home," Jack said in a low voice.

The door slowly swung open.

"Ah! Come to visit me, you have. The Force you have, the Force you need," said the little green Muppet.

Jack frowned. "The Force? As in Rum?" he asked after a moment.

The little green guy stared up at Jack, then looked around. "This isn't Dagobah, is it? Damn! Where's my travel agent?"

"…Sailing off from a Sail Station with paying…"

Jacobs exited the cabin, looking about at the mystical predawn world that surrounded him. There was something supernatural about that time of day, something that-

"Don' mind me." Jack knocked on a tree, opened a hidden door hinged into the wood, and pulled out three bottles of rum. "Go back to the _bein' crazy, but thinkin' ye're okay_ part," Jack suggested as he tramped off down a trail with his find.

Gwen stared at all the treasure, running a string of pearls absently through her hand.

"Want one?"

"One what?" she asked.

Jack held out a gold coin to her. He was eating something.

"They're chocolate," he explained, peeling the foil wrapper back a bit. "Oooh, candy necklaces!" he said, pulling the "pearls" from her hand. "I used to steal these from the girls when I was little…"

"…Shoplifting copious amounts of lumber and black paint from Ship Depot…"

"GWEN!"

"What is it, Jack?" Gwen panted, having come running at his bellow.

"My rum's gone!"

"You drank it all."

"But I had some stashed in the-"

"You drank it."

"What about the-"

"You drank it ten chapters ago."

"There was-"

"I drank some of it, and you drank the rest."

"But-"

"Nope."

"Do we have any wine, at least?"

"While you were drunk, you decided to re-christen the _Pearl_ again a couple dozen times. Broke every bottle we had on her hull."

"Any beer?"

"I think you used it to polish your sword while you were drunk."

"Any… brandy?"

"You hate brandy. And you threw all we had at the crew's feet, trying to make them riverdance."

"Any Nyquil?"

"…Drunk in pub-lic. There're about nine-hundred-sixty-something counts of that. And that's… that's about it."


End file.
